Lessons in Irish

It was in the month of July
In the flowery time of year
When Davey Fallon said to Bríd
“Oh how I’ve loved you dear
And now I need to broaden
The horizons of me father’s
English is me only tongue
Where Irish was me mother’s”
“The brogue it is you want well
To the Gaeltacht you should go!
But just remember buachaill
You might reap there what you sow...”
So Davey headed north and went to Gaoth Dobhair for a time
To study with a teacher
Aoife Nic Aoidh who’s iontach maith!
But later in the autumn
Aoife’s scent came back to Bríd
And she knew what he was learning
“How’s your Irish a stór mo chroí?”
“Ní thuigim” my dear said Davey
“Irish me arse” she said so low
A haon, dó, trí is all he had
“He’ll reap now what he sowed!”
Bríd then called her auntie and said
“This man he needs some sorting!
Be sick and helpless now for me
I’ll send him in the morning!”
So off to Limerick Davey went
To help the widowed Auntie
“She’s very sick and needs a hand”
From Bríd that was the story
Down in Limerick the aunt was frettin’
“Don’t you worry”, Davey said
Her kettle broken, house a mess
“I’ll sort it — stay in bed”
Having bought a brand new kettle
A mighty thirst it did come o’er him
Just as Bríd had planned it there
An alehouse stood before him
“Into Nancy’s just for one
The tea can wait till later!
Then I’ll bring the kettle home
To my thirst now I must cater!”
But in the river the next morn
Beside the brand new kettle
Was Davey Fallon dead and floatin’
Among the weeds and nettles
He was buried in the graveyard
And the town did gather round
All sad and mourning Davey
And wondering how he drowned
But standing lonely in the crowd
Was Nic Aoidh the Irish teacher
“I was his lover!” she did proclaim
To the crowd, and wife and preacher
But Bríd she knew her Irish
That man Davey didn’t fool her
She whispered low in Aoife’s ear
“I knew you were his lover...
Me brothers bought him pint for pint
And lit him like a cannon!
They walked him home that very night
And pushed him in the Shannon!”
So come all ye lovely lassies
From Kansas to Scramogue
Never trust your husband
If he goes to learn the brogue
For he’ll have a cailín on the side
And Gaeilge can’t deliver
So get someone to feed him drink
And toss him in the river!

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