"The Humors of Whiskey" A Traditional Irish Drinking Tune uploaded by Bjart
Just a wee note: a trick to add into the third verse, after "A drop from her bottle fell into me throttle" add a slide down the high E string, starting at the octave.
Let your quacks and newspapers be cuttin' their capers,
And curing the Vapours, the Scratch, and the Gout.
With their medical potions, their pills and their lotions.
Upholding their notions their mighty put out.
Who can tell the true physic of all things pathetic,
And pitch to the Devil cramp, colic, and spleen?
Oh, you'll find them I think if you take a big drink
With your mouth to the brink of a jug of poteen.
Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature
For sinkin' your sorrows, and raisin' your joys.
Oh, what botherations, no bolt to the nations
Can bring consolation like poteen me boys.
No liquid cosmetic to lovers athletic, Or ladies pathetic can bring such a bloom. As the sweet, by the powers to the garden of flowers Never brought its own powers such a darling perfume. And this liquid's so rare, if you're willin' to share, To be takin' your hair when its grizzled and dead. Oh, the sod has the merit to yield the true spirit, So strong it'll shake all the hairs from your head. Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature For sinkin' yoiur sorrows, and raisin' your joys. Oh, since its perfection, no doctor's direction Can clense the complexion like poteen me boys.
As a child in my cradle, the nurse from her ladle Was swillin' her mouth with the notion of pep. When a drop from her bottle fell into me throttle, I capered, and scrambled right out of her lap. On the floor I lay crawlin', and screamin', and bawlin' Till Father and Mother soon came to the fore. Conceived I lay dying, all wailing, and crying, They found I was only a-cryin' for more. Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature For sinkin' your sorrows, and raisin' your joys. Oh Lord, how I'd chuckle if babes in their truckle Could only be suckled on poteen me boys.
Through youthful digressions and times of depression, My childhood impression still clung to me mind. In school and in college, the basis of knowledge I never could gulp 'til with whiskey combined. Now as older I'm growin', time's ever bestowin' On Erin's potation a flavour so fine, And how e're they may lecture on Jove and his nectar, Itself is the only true liquid devine. Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature For sinkin' your sorrows, and raisin' your joys. Oh Lord, it's the right thing for courtin' and fightin'. There's naught so exiting as poteen me boys.
Come guess me this riddle: What beats pipes and fiddle? What's hotter than mustard, and wilder than cream? What best wets your whistle? What's clearer than crystal, Smoother than honey, and stronger than steam? What'll make the dumb talk? What'll make the lame walk-- The elixur of life and philosopher's stone? And what helped Mr. Brunell to dig the Thames tunnel? Wasn't it poteen me boys from old Innishowen? Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature For sinkin' your sorrows, and raisin' your joys. Oh, Lord knows I wonder if lighting and thunder Was made from the plunder of poteen me boys.
