Whisky in the bottle
County Donegal
The flowing river swilly
In the distance Errigal
I don't know how I made it
To the port of letterkenny
Nor where I'm going next
As my bottles almost empty

I am just a poor boy
Born in county Tipperary
I left my family farm
And the maiden I would marry
I made my way to Ulster
Searching for the town of Derry
I spend all my gold on whiskey
Now I cant afford the ferry

Met a man from cork
In a pub where I was drinking
Why come so far north
We were talking and were thinking
Kilometres from home
And from anyone we've known
County Donegal
And there's whisky in the bottle

Whack-fol de daddy-ol

i saw bluebirds singing in the valley of donegalsinging there song of love in the season of the fall i sat there and listened to there song so sweet.hoping maybe one day me and love would meet.i sat there for a while with teardrops in my eyewith there song so sweet it almost made me cry.now ive found love and i always will recallwhen i heard the blue birds sing in the valley of donegal

there was a  once a leprecaun he came from donegal
a friendly little chap and very very small
he lived in the  woods inside a big oak tree
living of the land living life for free
one day while he was walking on his little stroll
he heard a little yell coming from a hole
the little man climbed in and took a look around
to see if he could find what  made the yelling sound
it was his friend the badger somehow he got stuck
trapped inside the  hole surrounded by the muck
so he started digging to  free him from the ground
and cleared all the muck that fallen all around
badger he was free he was trapped no more
now he could roam around again like he did before

Half asleep, driving for hours
with Budweiser bottles,
warm from the heating.
The windows were all down,
we were smoking rollies,
all sharing one lighter because the driver
dropped his in a can of fanta.

Next thing,
the roar of an army of twincams.
VTECs, something insanely beautiful,
and incredibly ridiculous,
a convention of petrol heads—
Gardaí everywhere, searching for tax
and insurance. My God, I was in it.
Hundreds of thousands of them,
all excited like children,
the screaming of a million voices,
no exhaustion in the exhaust fumes.

The hills rose around us, the traffic
packed backwards,
expensive cars all sardined in a roundabout.
How loud can you get it?
Can she sing like a canary?
Can she find herself at the Letterkenny rally?

theres legend of a dragon they tell in donegal
he  has great big wings nearly ten foot tall
soars around the valleys. when the moon is bright
blowing out is fire lighting up the night

shakes his big long tail as he goes flying by
flying through the night all across the sky
maybe it is true  a dragon could be there
flying all around flying every where.

this is just a legend just what people say
the dragon we believe in will be there to stay
one day we will see it as it goes flying by
blowing out his fire lighting up the sky.

I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

this girl I know
who always wears summer dresses
and a smile
lent me a book on awareness
but wants it back before
she goes to work in a conflict zone
for the red cross in september

she travelled in a big red bus
to a surfers festival in donegal
where she worked
in the big red bus café
on her breaks she surfed
smoked loads of ****
listened to reggae and ate falafel

last Wednesday she received a
back payment from the social welfare
and felt guilty about it
so she donated half of it to charity
bought donkeys for three Ethiopian families
spent a small fortune on ingredients for a friends dinner
and paid for my vegetable soup

she stopped at a chocolatier
to buy one solitary chocolate
and then ate it hurriedly
while she chatted to
a circus guy she knew
about a party she had missed when she
was on the big red bus

while skimming through books
in the spirituality section
wearing her summer dress and a smile
she said she felt sick
from having eaten the chocolate too
quickly and was sad that she hadn’t
taken the time to enjoy it

today the red cross sent her for
a chest x-ray

.
I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

Beach walking alone.
Never, short as Donegal strands,
Endless— without her.

Beach walking alone.
Never, short as Donegal strands,
Endless— without her.

SCATTERED IRISH THOUGHTS

Leprechauns with fairy dust will sneak into your dreams
so make a wish then go to sleep in the morning you'll believe
but a *** of gold you may not find by the morning light
cause life itself is the only gift you'll ever need to find
and by the midnight moon the Leprechauns you'll hear
they dance and sing upon your roof and drink their mugs of beer
they sing about Killarney - Donegal and County Cork
the treasures of old Ireland they protect for evermore
and if you catch a Leprechaun three wishes and no more
or Elves and Dwarfs and Unicorns will be knocking at your door

and an Irish man can drink alone but alone he'll never be
cause a pint of beer and all his dreams is all he'll ever need
for an Irish man can spin a tale of times long now forgot
paint his words in metaphors you decide what's true or not
and in the corner of the pub they're singing Danny Boy
sad songs the Irish like to sing but live a life of joy
and an Irish lass may smile at you with her emerald eyes
you'll swear to all the Saints above - ya think ya went and died
the Irish welcome one and all and they'll make you feel at home
but a part of you will never leave once you've kissed the Blarney Stone

                                       by vjkelly  (c) 2011
                                  vincentjkelly@yahoo.com
                               from the song SCATTERED IRISH THOUGHTS

Beach walking alone.
Never, short as Donegal strands,
Endless— without her.