Danny Boy Pastiche
O Danny Boy, don’t think that I am calling:
I’ve heard this song, at Folk Nights far and wide;
It does not gain from endless repetition;
A long time ago, all pleasure in it died.
If this is sung, I will not rise and thank you.
I’ll comb the room for somewhere else to go;
I cannot bear another time to hear this.
O Danny Boy, what’s the attraction? I don’t know.
But one fine night, when all the beer is flowing
And I am drunk, as drunk I may well be;
There comes a lull, a lull in the proceedings
Someone will sing this wretchéd song to me.
And I will hear, though I am barely conscious
And I will quake in painful agony;
Until it ends, I will not lift a finger
Though I admit I’m sorely tempted, believe you me.
