|On the chest of a barmaid in Sale|
Were tattooed the prices of ale.
And on her behind,
For the sake of the blind,
Was the same information in Braille!
|Rye bread will do you good,|
Barely bread will do you no harm,
Wheaten bread will sweeten your blood,
Oaten bread will strengthen your arm.
|The race of men named the Gael,|
Is a race God surely made mad.
For all of their wars are merry
And all of their loves are sad.
|The reason the Irish are always fighting each other|
Is they have no other worthy opponents.
|The test of Gold is Fire|
The test of Truth is Time
The test of God's love are the heavens above
and everything sublime
Treasures in life are many,
dreams realized but few
But I know the test of God's goodness
is when he gave me a friend like you.
|Tis better to buy a small bouquet|
And give to your friend this very day,
Than a bushel of roses white and red
To lay on his coffin after he's dead.
|To a full moon on a dark night, and the road downhill all the way to your door.
|We cannot share this sorrow|
If we haven't grieved a while.
Nor can we feel another's joy
Until we've learned to smile.
|What is Irish diplomacy?|
It's the ability to tell a man to go to hell,
So that he will look forward to making the trip.
|Wherever you go and whatever you do,May the luck of the Irish be there with you.
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