Paddy Furlong (lyrics), Gerry Durack (air)
There were quare goings on last Thursday night
- Paul never sang The Wild Rover
Then someone mistook a stool for a chair
The night that Paddy went over
"That floor is hard" was his one remark
When the breath came back to his pipes
And when he looked up there was Susan and Gerry
Concerned, expecting gripes
"I'm fine!" says he and he scrambles up
Banjo still under his arm
And straddles all cool that fool of a stool
"Not a drop was spilt - no harm!"
"Was there drink involved?" Whispered some kind soul
"Or maybe a T.I.A.?"
The discussion leaned toward the Probably cause
Probability had the day.
Then Sofía sang sweet and Sofía sang high
Poor Paddy couldn't catch one word
So he feared his linguistic ear was gone
And left him a deaf old bird
"That's Kichwa", says Pete, "a branch of Quechua
That started up in Peru
And moved along the Andes way back
To Bolivia and Ecuador too".
He knows a lot, our Pete, he's smart
And so does Paddy's back
He's night and day rubbing Voltarol
On his Sacroiliac
But he'll be back next Thursday night
His ould banjo will be there
But his brand new rule is no fool stool
He'll sit on a bloody chair!
