#00546
The Humours Of Whiskey (Stewart/Lunny) MIDI
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Let your quacks and newspapers be cuttin' their capers,
And curing the vapours, the scratch and the gout;
With their medical potions, their pills and their lotions,
Upholdin' their notions, they're mighty put out.
Who can tell the true physic of all things pathetic,
And pitch to the devil cramp, colic and spleen?
Oh, you'll find them, I think, if you take a big drink,
With your mouth to the brink of a jug of poteen.

Then stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature,
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys;
Oh, what botherations no bolt to the nation,
Can bring consolation like poteen, me boys?

No liquid cosmetic to lovers athletic,
Or ladies pathetic can bring such a bloom;
As the sweet, by the powers to the garden of flowers,
Never brought it's own powers such a darlin' perfume.
And this liquid's so rare, if you're willin' to share,
To be takin' your hair when its grizzled and dead;
Oh, the sod has the merit to yield the true spirit,
So strong it'll shake all the hairs from your head.

Then stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature,
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys;
Oh since its perfection no doctor's direction,
Can cleanse the complexion like poteen, me boys.

As a child in my cradle, the nurse from her ladle,
Was swillin' her mouth with a notion of Pep;
When a drop from her bottle fell into me throttle,
I capered and scrambled right out of her lap;
On the floor I lay crawlin' and screamin' and bawlin',
Till Father and Mother soon came to the fore;
Conceived I lay dying, all wailing and crying,
They found I was only a-cryin' for more.

Then stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature,
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys;
Oh, Lord, how I'd chuckle if babes in their truckle,
Could only be suckled on poteen, me boys.

Through youthful digressions and times of depression,
My childhood impression still clung to me mind;
In school and in college the basis of knowledge,
I never could gulp till with whiskey combined.
Now, as older I'm growin', time's ever bestowin',
On Erin's potation a flavour so fine;
And howe'er they may lecture on Jove and his nectar,
Itself is the only true liquid divine.

Then stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature,
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys;
Oh Lord, it's the right thing for courtin' and fightin',
There's nowt so exciting as poteen, me boys.

Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle,
What's hotter than mustard and wilder than cream?
What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal,
Smoother than honey and stronger than steam?
What'll make the dumb talk, what'll make the lame walk --
The elixir of life and philosopher's stone?
And what helped Mr. Brunell to dig the Thames tunnel?
Wasn't it poteen, me boys, from old Innishowen?

Then stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature,
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys;
Oh, Lord knows I wonder, if lightning and thunder,
Was made from the plunder of poteen, me boys!

####.... Joseph Lunn (The Emerald Isle Songbook, 1899) ....####
Recorded by Andy M Stewart and Manus Lunny, Dublin Lady, trk#8, 1987, Chivalry Music

Note - Cratur' and poteen are nicknames for illegal Irish whiskey.

From the Dictionary Of Newfoundland English:
Truckle - home made hand cart with small solid wheels.



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