Griffin Duet Drunken Irish Dad

Peter: Oh, he doesn t smell like Irish Spring, And he never taught me anything, But still I slap my chest and sing Of My Drunken Irish Dad. Oh, his face looks like a railroad map, And he never shuts his freakin Mickey: But all the ladies catch the clap From your Drunken Irish Dad. Peter: Ask a Hennessey, Tennessey, Morrison, Shaughnessy, Reardon, and They ll tell you the same McNulty, Mulrooney, and Carter and Clooney, All feel the same mixture of pride and of shame. Mickey: Finnegan, Hannigan, Kelly, and Flanagan. Look to the ground while their dad passes by Cafferty, Rafferty, Joyce and O Lafferty, Fight for his honor and then start to cry (People in the bar dance and brawl while others play the fiddle, tin whistle, and concertina. ) Both: Oh, we Irish lads are all infirm, And our moods infect us like a germ Cause we re all the spawn of a pickled Mickey: (Spoken) And we don t tan well either. All: a Drunken Irish Dad