"St. Patrick drowned himself in the ocean to rid Ireland of snakes.
In his memory, we drown ourselves in whiskey to rid ourselves of everything."
-Jake Hincka
We siezed the bottle,
broke the seal,
and opened up the lid.
Then took, in turns,
tremendous draughts
of the green whiskey within.
The Irish jiggs and drinking songs
played out loud, and we sang along.
It was a wonderous, perfect night
to drink and drink and drink and fight.
We raised the bottle
in salute
to many Irishmen,
and other heros, now deceased,
who in our memory live again.
We chugged the bottle down,
emptied it with ease,
then walked into the woods,
and threw it in the trees.
It was a wonderous, perfect night
to drink and drink and drink and fight.
The second bottle
was finished quick
and disposed of in its time
only half an hour'd passed,
and we were feeling fine
but then the Irish bastard,
feeling a bit aloof,
decided that the place to be
was out upon the roof.
For it was a wonderous, perfect night
to drink and drink and drink and fight.
The other ones
had other thoughts.
Being more sober, they
knew that if they let him go,
death would come his way.
A 75 foot drop
and a sudden stop
on the cobblestones
outside his dear friend's home
would be more than enough to do him in
so they did restrain their friend,
but he did not five up easily,
and dragged them onward bodily.
It was a wonderous, perfect night,
we'd drank, drank, drank and now the fight.
...
*There's a bit more to the story, actually,
and if people show interest I'll try to finish it.
