The Sick Bed Of Cuchulainn

McCormack and
Richard Tauber are singing by the bed
There's a glass of punch below your feet and an angel at your head
There's devils on each side of you with bottles in their hands
You need one more drop of poison and you'll dream of foreign lands
When you pissed yourself in
Frankfurt and got syph down in
Cologne And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone
Frank Ryan brought you whiskey in a brothel in
Madrid And you decked some ******* blackshirt who was cursing all the
Yids At the sick bed of
Cuchulainn we'll kneel and say a prayer
And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil's in the chair
And in the
Euston Tavern you screamed it was your shout
But they wouldn't give you service so you kicked the windows out
They took you out into the street and kicked you in the brains
So you walked back in through a bolted door and did it all again
At the sick bed of
Cuchulainn we'll kneel and say a prayer
And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil's in the chair
You remember that foul evening when you heard the banshees howl
There was lazy drunken bastards singing
Billy is in the bowl
They took you up to midnight mass and left you in the lurch
So you dropped a button in the plate and spewed up in the church
Now you'll sing a song of liberty for blacks and paks and jocks
And they'll take you from this dump you're in and stick you in a box
Then they'll take you to
Cloughprior and shove you in the ground
But you'll stick your head back out and shout "we'll have another round"
At the graveside of
Cuchulainn we'll kneel around and pray
And God is in
His heaven, and
Billy's down by the bay