The Irish Rover
When
I was a kid my dad always tried to make a big deal out of us being
Irish (the only ones in town), but who gives a shit what your dad says
when you’re young? Certainly not me. When we got a little older my dad
came up with the idea that on St. Patrick’s Day, he would administer a
quiz to my brother and me on the history of Irish saints; the winner
would get a pizza from TA-DA! Roma’s. A week or so before the 17th he’d
give us some big, over-the-top dry book to read on the subject. My
brother would actually read it; I’d get to page 3 and then start
wondering if I’d rather be in Def Leppard or Duran Duran (trick question
– I’d be better off being a dead Irish saint.) So guess who would win
the “competition”? But the thing is, I’d still get the pizza – the pizza
would come, and I’d hafta toast to Brothatime!!!’s Irish brilliance,
but I’d do it with a mouthful of cheese and grease on my face. To this
day, I live by that creed: "I will not read for pizza." Anyways, my dad
didn’t have a lot of records that weren’t some military marching band or
some such, but he did have this IRISH ROVERS record, and I about wore
it out when I was a wee one - in particular this song. I wish I had the
Irish Rover’s version that I speak of, but the Pogues are always close
enough when it’s about the motherland.
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