Tonart: Db major
Verse 1
Gb
Let your quacks and newspapers
Db
be cut ting their capers
Gb
And curing the vapors,
Eb
the scratch or the gout
Gb
With their magical potions,
Db
their pills and their lotions
Gb
Db
Upholding their no tions,
Gb
well, they're mighty put out
What's good for the sneezing,
the coughing and wheezing
Db
Gb
Likewise will be azing,
cram colic or spleen
Well, you'll know it, I think,
Db
if you take a big drink
Gb
With your mouth full to the brink
Db
F
of a jug of poitin
Db
Gb
So, stick to the crater,
the best thing in nature
Db
Gb
For sinking your sorrows
and raising your joys
It's one of life's pleasures
F
Db
to sip at your leisure
Gb
It's Ireland's own treasure,
the poitin, boys
As a child in the cradle
F
me nurse with her ladle
Gb
was filling me mouth with an ocean of pop
Till a drop from her bottle
fell into me throttle.
Db
I capered and toppled all
Gb
F
out of her lap
Db
F
On the floor I lay squalling
Gb
and screaming and bawling
F
Gb
Till my parents came calling
F
Gb
and stepped to the floor
F
All sobbing and sighing
Db
they thought I was dying
F#
But I was just crying
F
for a drop or two more.
C
E
F#
So, stick to the crater,
the best thing in nature,
F
F#
For sinking your sorrows
and raising your joys.
It's one of life's pleasures
F
to sip at your leisure,
Bbm
F
It's Ire land's own treasure,
F#
the Pudge in me boys.
F
Come guess me this riddle,
C
what baits, pipes and fiddle
F
Was hotter than mustard
D
and smoother than cream?
F
What best would your whistle?
C
Was clearer than crystal,
A
E
F
and stronger than steam?
C
F
What'll make the lamb walk?
What'll make the dumb talk?
The elixir of life,
the philosopher's stone?
And might help Mr. Brunnell
C
to dig the Thames Tunnel
F
C
Sure wasn't it pochin'
C
F
E
F
So stick to the crater,
the best thing in nature
E
F
For sinkin' your sorrows
and raisin' your joys
It's one of life's pleasures
F
C
It's irons on treasure,
F
they're patching me boys.
Well the English I'm thinking,
E
F
to say that they're drinking,
And their glasses are clinking,
E
D
while their senses take leave.
F
Should they'll soon be demented,
F
Just look what tar minted,
F
Now the French have their brandy,
it makes them quite randy,
C
F
And they find it goes handy
E
F
within her arty
And a single malt whisky
can make the Scots frisky
Am
F
But for quenching the thirst,
E
it's the Pudgeon for me
F
E
So stick to the crater,
F
the best thing in nature
E
F
For sinking your sorrows
and raising your joys
It's one of life's pleasures,
to sip at your leisure.
E
F
It's irons on treasure.
The Pudgy Millie Boys!
Have another drink, boys.
There we go.
That's Sean O'Driscoll. Well done.
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