The Irish Wake
Verse 1
Old Mick O’Reilly loved his stout
Near forty years or more
You’d find him planted every night
Inside McCann’s front door
He knew the horses, knew the odds
Knew songs from long ago
And if a man would buy a round
Mick never once said no
Now word went round through Ballyclare
One rainy Friday late
That Mick had finally drank enough
And met Saint Peter’s gate
Chorus
Oh the whiskey flowed like rivers
And the Guinness flowed like rain
At the finest Irish wake the town
Will ever see again
There was laughing, tears and fighting
Songs that shook the window panes
And half of County Donegal
Still swears Mick never came
Verse 2
Old Father Reilly took the floor
To speak of Mick’s good heart
But somebody in the back yelled out,
“He owed me thirty marks!”
The whole room burst like dynamite
The laughter shook the hall
And Father Reilly lost all hope
Of calming them at all
Then Murphy climbed upon a chair
With whiskey in his hand
And sang three verses far too loud
No mortal could withstand
Chorus
Oh the whiskey flowed like rivers
And the Guinness flowed like rain
At the finest Irish wake the town
Will ever see again
There was dancing in the kitchen
And snoring in the drains
And half of County Donegal
Still swears Mick never came
Verse 3
By midnight someone claimed they saw
The coffin gently shake
While Mrs Flynn declared she heard
Old Mick cry, “One more crate!”
Young Katie fainted clean away
The priest near lost his mind
And Paddy swore on all the saints
He saw Mick wink one eye
The fiddler played till half past three
The candles all burned low
And someone started pouring stout
Beside the overflow
Bridge
Now some say wakes are sorrowful
And filled with tears and dread
But Ireland knows a proper send-off
Celebrates the dead
For every song and every laugh
And every glass we raise
Keeps old Mick alive another night
Inside our hearts always
Final Chorus
Oh the whiskey flowed like rivers
And the Guinness flowed like rain
At the wildest Irish wake the town
Will ever see again
And somewhere down in Ballyclare
When music fills the air
They say old Mick still pulls a stool
And somehow’s sitting there
Michael Forty