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Poems of Mac McAnear
Shanty Irish

Do lemmings want to know where they’re destined to go
When committing suicide?
They truly go to Hell, no matter if they yell!
Predictable as the living tide! 

By the shape she was in, me mother committed sin
And me father a Gent with fashioned spats
Abandoned that saucy girl with the wayward spittin’ curl
Who ended up living with the rats! 

Thought of ending all the strife, but didn’t take her life
Since a Christian through and through
Used her wits instead,  never had to bed
Took a job in a pub drawing brew! 

Many an eager ready male, smiling without fail
Ready to use the pillow--- but the Gent the only one
We can draw a dark conclusion, but there’s really no confusion
Devoted to her one and only son!

Grew without a father, who didn’t even bother
Looking at footprints in the sand
Though neglected was the lad, not so very sad
Since got cozy with darlings of the land!

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