It's Yule Time in An Irishman's Diary, and today we're giving away, absolutely free, the Diary hymn-sheet!
On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me, a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me, two downpours and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the third day of Christmas my true love sent to me, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent to me, four rushing rivers, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love sent to me, five gondoliers, four rushing rivers, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love sent to me, six flooded fields, five gondoliers, four rushing rivers, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me, seven oarsmen rowing, six flooded fields, five gondoliers, four rushing rivers, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love sent to me, eight nuns a-drowning, seven oarsmen rowing, six flooded fields, five gondoliers, four rushing rivers, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love sent to me, nine lifejackets, eight nuns adrowning, seven downpours, six flooded fields, five gondoliers, four rushing rivers, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love sent to me, ten snorkelling cattle, nine lifejackets, eight nuns adrowning, seven oarsmen rowing, six flooded fields, five gondoliers, four rushing rivers, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me, eleven farmers swimming, ten snorkelling cattle, nine lifejackets, eight nuns adrowning, seven oarsmen rowing, six flooded fields, five gondoliers, four rivers rushing, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me, twelve falling trees, eleven farmers swimming, ten snorkelling cattle, nine lifejackets, eight nuns adrowning, seven oarsmen rowing, six flooded fields, five gondoliers, four rivers rushing, three hurricanes, two downpours, and a gale blowing from the North Sea.
Sodden Night
Sodden night, howling night, All is dark, nothing bright. Just a downpour, so cold and so drear, Hurricanes blowing from Meath to Cape Clear, Raining without cease, Raining without cease.
Oh Come
Oh come you tornadoes, Noisy and destructive, Oh blow ye, oh blow ye from Kerry to Down.
Come and behold it, Christ it never ceases. Oh watch the f---ing rain fall, Oh watch the f---ing rain fall, Oh watch the f----ing rain fall, in Dire Ireland.
It's global warming, Wet and wild and windy, Icecaps a-melting at either pole.
Come and behold it, this endless Irish winter. Oh watch the f---ing rain fall, Oh watch the f---ing rain fall, Oh watch the f---ing rain fall, in Dire Ireland.
God Wet You
God wet you merry gentlemen, no matter how you pray, The rain it raineth endlessly for each and every day. It fills your hats, it fills your shoes, it fills you with dismay, Bringing tides in to bother and annoy, bother and annoy, Bringing tides in to bother and annoy.
Folly in the Iveagh
A folly in the Iveagh, Wet consuls having fits, Of all the postings in the world, This country is the pits.
Away in a Manger
Away in a manger, a pool for a bed, The freezing Lord Jesus sank down his wet head. The clouds in the heavens looked down where he's lain, And soaked the poor cratur with torrents of rain.
Three wise men approacheth, with incense and myrrh, But are lost in a puddle just this side of Birr.
While Joseph the joiner is making a boat - Too late for poor Mary, no longer afloat.
And as for the donkey, with a pitiful bray, Was seized by a wave and was soon swept away, Though Jesus - like Michelle - had practised his crawl, He was drowned in the floods not far from the Dail.
And as for us Irish, is it quite by mistake, That we live in a land intended as lake? Or does God in his anger exhale that great wind, For in previous lives, oh how we had sinned?