Enjoyin the wake of my dearly departed
feelins for you!

Meself was the coroner, that pronounced me feelins dead,
Twas meself that mourned the loss and hung me head.
Time of death?, some time ago,
Me feelins twas bearly a breathin, but himself would not go!
Not that himself wanted them to live,
Himself just wanted, them there for a wee bit more to give.
Let's be a hoistin a pint to the Dearly Departed,
The poor soul, that died from bein broken hearted.
Let the bagpipes be a playin" Amazing Grace",
Let the tears of remorse be a streamin down himself's stoic face.
Now let us be a drinkin another round,
To the lyin Bastard, may he drown!
May the Banshee call himself's name,
May meself dance a jig on himself's lowly remains.
Tis meself who spits upon his memory, the foul imp,
Himself caused tears to fill me Irish Eyes and cause me spirit to limp!
So here's to meself, the jubilant one at me wake,
I dust me hands of the bitter lot and to eternally forsake!