Shifty Mac an Irish drunk,
He plies his trade with *****,
Be it beer scotch or skunk,
He imbibes the lot by the trunk,
Shenanigans he presents to those he punk,
He doth no monk,
He stumbles and gropes till a thunk,
A smack a cross the lips for this drunk,
On the floor he lay as the sun hath sunk,
He arise by the light of dawn on his bunk,
Oh how he flunked.