Post by Admin on Nov 18, 2013 12:08:15 GMT -5
Kinsale:
God bless the Fishermen, who go out on the sea,
Braving every wave, for the likes of you and me.
Riding every swell, the herring shoals to see,
Then trying to catch that wind, that brings them home for tea.
One minute its as clear as glass, the next as black as coal.
With the captain at the wheel, watching every roll.
The chef is in the galley, the coffees on the brew.
But I like my cup of tea, like Gandhi it is true.
And as the waves whirl me around and push me to and fro,
I wish that I was on dry land, a drinking I would go.
To see again the Heart and Crown, the Guinness and the crack,
To listen to those Irish songs, always bring me back.
It takes all kinds to make a world, as you can understand.
The sailor loves the open sea, the farmer likes the land.
The priest has his pulpit, where he can make his stand.
But I like best, when I can rest, my spider in my hand
Frank Taylor (Reproduced here in tribute)
God bless the Fishermen, who go out on the sea,
Braving every wave, for the likes of you and me.
Riding every swell, the herring shoals to see,
Then trying to catch that wind, that brings them home for tea.
One minute its as clear as glass, the next as black as coal.
With the captain at the wheel, watching every roll.
The chef is in the galley, the coffees on the brew.
But I like my cup of tea, like Gandhi it is true.
And as the waves whirl me around and push me to and fro,
I wish that I was on dry land, a drinking I would go.
To see again the Heart and Crown, the Guinness and the crack,
To listen to those Irish songs, always bring me back.
It takes all kinds to make a world, as you can understand.
The sailor loves the open sea, the farmer likes the land.
The priest has his pulpit, where he can make his stand.
But I like best, when I can rest, my spider in my hand
Frank Taylor (Reproduced here in tribute)
