.IE

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Holding my own in stab city Ireland
a raunchy rant a mysterious lore
a night shift jaunt on ole King’s Island
A sordid encounter with a dead whore

a timely Limerick it seems maybe crass
dear Shannon you silly young lass
Small not be your color or size
nor that stream between your thighs
but it’s better that than it be from your ass

a stagger back from Southhill
came the Dubliners sly
For them a night out for the kill
brothers Mcool and O’Bligh
My wrong place and time to chill
out and alone tho was I
This I thought til  I’d lay by you still
under the Sarsfield where we’d climbed

An hour or two would pass
as I slipped away by your side
when I left you alone well, alas
It’s not my choice that we should ‘ave died
so be comfy alone in the grass
I simply needed a quck place to hide
I often wonder what words would’ve  passed
had we met when we were alive