©The Crooked Man
(For all Terry Wogan fans)

There's a famous Irish city called Dublin
That's noted for porter and stout
Where Mr. and Mrs. Togmeister
Took Terry for a jolly day out.

A well trousered lad were young Terrance,
All dressed in his best, quite a swell.
He'd a shillelagh with donkey’s tail handle;
The finest that Ben Dunn's could sell.

They didn't think much to the Liffey,
Or even the tart in the cart.
The floosie sat in the jacuzzi,
Did little to stir the lad’s heart.

So, seeking for crack and refreshment,
They upped, and went into a bar,
Where they had whiskey and Guinness and Vimto
And pickled eggs stuffed in a jar.

There were one great big lummock called Jim Joyce
Whose beard was all covered with dribbles;

  He lay in a som-no-lent posture
With the side of his face in the nibbles.

Now Terry had heard about playwrights-
How they was outrageous and mad;
To see Jimmy snoring so peaceful
Just didn't seem right to the lad.

So straightway the brave little fellow,
Not showing a morsel of fear,
Took his shillelagh with donkey’s tail handle
And stuck it up Ol’ Joyce’s rear.

You could see that Jimmy didn't like it,
For giving a kind of a roar,
He grabbed Tel by his brand new red braces
And hung him on a hook by the door.

Now Mother had seen this occurrence,
Though feeling a tiny bit squiffed,
She hollered "Yon drunk’s hung our Terry!"
And Father said "Gosh, I am miffed."

They complained to Assumpta the barmaid
Who said "My, what a nasty to-do;
Are you sure it's your boy that’s been strung up?"
Pa said, "Am I sure? That there's his shoe!"

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