i bang on the door, but she won't let me in
'cause you're sick and tired of me reeking of gin you lock all the doors from the front to the back
and left me a note telling me i should pack
i walk in the bar and the fella's all cheer
order me up a whiskey and beer
if you ask me why i'm writting this poem some call it tavern, but i call it home
you've given me an option, you said i must choose
'tween you an' the liquor, then i'll take the booze
i'm jumpin' on western down to the southside
where i'll sit down and exercise my irish pride.
