F C
Oh, he doesn't smell like Irish Spring,
Bb F
And he never taught me anything,
Bb F
But still I slap my chest and sing -
G C
Of My Drunken Irish Dad.
F C
Oh, his face looks like a railroad map,
Bb F
And he never shuts his freakin' trap...
Bb F
But all the ladies catch the clap
G C
From your Drunken Irish Dad.
Bb A
Ask a Hennessey, Tennessey, Morrison,
Bb
Shaughnessy, Reardon, and Rooney...
A
They'll tell you the same
Bb A
McNulty, Mulrooney, and Connor and Clooney,
Bb C
All feel the same mixture of pride and of
shame.
Bb A
Finnegan, Hannigan, Kelly, and Flanagan.
Bb A
Look to the ground while their dad passes by
Bb A
Cafferty, Rafferty, Joyce and O'Lafferty,
Bb C
Fight for his honor and then start to cry!
F-C-Bb-C-F-C-G-C F-C-Bb-C-F-C-G-G-C
F C
Oh, we Irish lads are all infirm,
Bb F
And our moods infect us like a germ
Bb F
'Cause we're all the spawn of a pickled sperm...
And we don't tan well either.
G C F
From a Drunken Irish Dad!!!
