Hugh McCallion
Now Mary had a singing son
Who was her pride and joy,
She bored the pants off everyone
Promoting of her boy.
She pestered Father Dwyer,
She nagged him night and day,
To put him in the choir
But he would not give way.

She carried on as women can,
As stubborn as a mule,
And then she heard about a man
Who ran a singing school.
Said she: 'I'll buy tuition,
Before he comes of age,
For it is my great ambition
To see him on the stage.'

So Mary wrote a letter
And how she did rejoice;
It couldn't have been better,
This chap was 'Jones The Voice'.
A singing Welshman, glory be,
Now sure weren't they the best;
She telephoned immediately
To organise a test.

Then into Tipperary Town
She took her pride and joy;
The Welshman looked him up and down
And then said: 'Lovely Boy!'
He took the laddie by the arm
And ushered him inside,
As Mary sat exuding charm
And radiating pride.

The Welshman slowly shook his head
When they came out again,
Though not a single word was said
He made his feelings plain.
'Will he ever make a tenor Dai?'
Said Mary with a sob,
Which brought the rather curt reply:
'He won't make thirty bob!'
The end