The Story

St. Patrick’s Day arrives next Thursday, March 17th.  It’s a day overloaded with memories for me, as my father is a professional  Irish-American of sorts.  He once had a beautiful  tenor voice,  loved a political harangue, and lost many of his teeth in both planned and impromptu boxing matches.   Alas, he’s 84 now,  suffers from dementia,  and thus isn’t quite sure who I am anymore. 

Among my fondest memories of Saint Pat's are dad’s green satin suit, the drink and the blather:

"It's not the truth, it's the story."

Well he knew his pint, and of the Irishmen (and wannabes) who make arses of themselves on the important day. What was a somewhat solemn occasion in Ireland has become National Alcoholic Achievement Day in America.  Dad had explained it this way: "In Ireland, a bottle of whiskey cost a month's wages.  In America, a day's wages."  

Here’s a song I wrote in tribute to his legacy. It’s a 1-4-5 type of song, but you can throw in the relative minor to make it more ballad-like if you prefer.

 

Caveman

An I.Q. that’s good for golfing

is a very happy lad

You should see him on a pub crawl

half sodden and half mad

You can fiddlefuck and argue

if it’s human or it’s beast

But even all the nitwits say

he’s quite a touchy piece

He’ll thrash the sweet bejesus

out of those who cross his will

Take you out with the rubbish

or eat you as a meal

There’s no sense making chatter

with a caveman of this sort

You’d best make fancy footwork

for the nearest door

No girl would fancy marriage

because he drools while making sweet

And with such a large appendage

he can barely take a seat

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and

the panoply of saints

I confess to you that I’ve

never seen a harder case

Testosterone’s a good thing,

it gives us girls and boys

But too much of a good thing

is Satan’s grandest ploy

La la la la
La la la la
Tra la la la
Caveman

© 2008 Tom Hamill