Hereunder I will give to you a little explanation Of how and why it happened that I got no education;I was born at a time when Ireland was oppressedWith many social troubles and political unrest.
So my lack of education I hope you'll overlook,I had a fork and shovel when I should have had a book;I finished up my schooling when I was in fourth classAnd too my next degrees out at the creamery with an ass.
The donkey had no harness that every donkey needs,His chief attire was twine and wire, the reins were like a beads:The car and wheels were shaky, as you can understand,Behind my back I had a rock to hammer on the band.
The churn was tied securely with a piece of hairy rope,While on the leaky bottom was a pound of Sunlight soap;The shabby stitch of clothes I wore were made from shabby cloth,And they were plastered over with a layer of milky froth.
One thing that I was blessed with, I was never short of air,My clothes were often torn and my feet were often bare;Because my parents had no cash my schooling was restricted,But by some freak of nature I'm poetically afflicted.
And now if I had lots of time I would explain within this rhymeThe present trend and change of things since there were neither tyres nor springs,The creamery boys now seldom pass,Likewise the jennet or the ass.
The traffic on the roads has swelledWith trucks mechanically propelled;The speed with which they bring the churn,The wheels, but not the milk, will turn.
Now television's all the go,"The Riordans," yes, and "Tolka Row,"And sometimes it would break your heartTo hear them talk of Maxwell Smart."The Long Hot Summer" was all right,"Twould help to pass away the night;And now we have " The Iron Horse,"Well, I suppose it could be worse.
There are some programmes I don't see,Because I don't be "Home for Tea,"My work hours do not agree With all the shows on R.T.E..
I don't see Din Joe's "Be My Guest,"Because I work while others rest;But one thing I was pleased to seeWas Dermot O on "amboree."I like deBuitleir and the birds,Although I don't know Gaelic words;There's very little can be saidAbout "The Flinstones" or " Mr Ed."
On Sunday we have Gaelic games,Michae O Hhehir reads out the names;When evening comes I'm sure you know,You can sit and watch the "Lucy Show;Now "Batman" seems to be the rage,It's watched by men of every age;"The Man From Uncle" seems to beA complicated mystery.
Now "Life at Reilly's looked to meUnlike what socials used to be;Although you'd hear an odd good song,Thank God it didn't last too long.And I would worry not at allIf I should miss "A Noble Call,"That programme smelled too much, I think,Of strong intoxicating drink.
Then there's "Newsbeat" and Frank Hall,Sometimes it is not bad at all;But sure they had to go and spoil it,They made old rags out of a toilet."Green Acres," oh, and by the way,I heard they joined the NFA;They'll surely march with Mr MaherIf they again should take the tar.
They'll bring along the pig and cow,Likewise the tractor and the plough;Old Haney will be there as wellWith some commodities to sell.When I see that programme, "On the Land,"Then for the switch I stretch my hand;I worked with farmers years agoAnd then learned all I want to know.
And now with Richard Kimble freeWe are glad that he should be;For years a fugitive he ran,Until he found the one armed man.He dodged old lieutenant GerrardBy often less than half a yard;It would indeed, be most unfairTo send the wrong man to the chair.
So now you may think me unwise,Such things as these to criticize;But criticism sure is free,Or, if it's not, it ought to be.And now I think I will conclude,My poetry is rather crude,My spelling's bad, likewise my hand,But sure I know you'll understand.