I'm a man that likes a quiet life, with the odd we bit o' craic,
I live with my daughter's family, in a wee room round the back.
They moved in when the Missus died - they said to 'keep me right',
But the only thing they're good for is converting spuds to shite!

Her eldest girl was a tight wee blade, who never missed a trick,
With a temper like a nest of wasps you're poking with a stick.
Every stitch that she put on had to be the height of fashion,
Specifically designed, it seemed, to raise a young man's passion.

I used to see her underwear on the washing line displayed -
Not cloth enough to tighten up the head upon a spade!
She'd go out in tiny miniskirts, in the wildest winter weeks,
The wind - it must have surely brought the colour to her cheeks!

But when she went away to Queen's, her head begun to swell,
And then she got a boyfriend, and things really went to hell.
It was lucky that astronomy was not her chosen class,
For she had the clear impression that the sun shone from his ass!

His suits were by Armani, and his shirts were silken fine,
His shoes were all Italian, and his drawers were Calvin Klein.
His name, it seemed, was Jeremy, he lived out in Cultra,
He was just like Daniel O'Donnell, only nicer to his Ma!

She reckoned he was perfect, but I didn't know what to think,
For he sounded like a fella who might like his handbags pink!

Then one weekend she landed in, just like a nuclear bomb,
He was coming down next Friday, to meet her Dad and Mum!
The house had to be whitewashed, and paint work all re-done,
And the yard cleaned up and tidied, and wash off the cow-dung.

Put up the brand new curtains, clean out the chimney flues,
And put on a proper tablecloth - not last week's Irish News!
The floor was scrubbed, the brass was rubbed, the dog was booted out,
But then she dropped a bombshell that made me want to shout.

She wanted my wee sitting room, with a sofa and TV,
Where she could take her darling Jeremy, to sit down after tea!
In vain I tried to protest, but she had it all thought out,
It would only be a couple of nights - what was all the fuss about?

They packed my stuff, and moved my bed, but I didn't want a row,
So I went down to the byre, and complained like Hell to the cow!
They tidied and they painted, dusted, cleaned, and swept it all,
Till the house felt like a convent, when the Pope was due to call.

When the great day came, he left Belfast, in his lovely new sports car,
And got on great until he reached the lanes of South Armagh.
There's not much satisfaction having hundreds of horsepower,
When you're stuck behind a tractor, doing twenty miles an hour.

And when the tractor finally left, his speed slowed to a crawl,
Behind a herd of cows that filled the lane from wall to wall.

Now boys brought up in nice Cultra have a lovely view of cattle,
Clean and smiling things in books, that give milk in a bottle.
But folk reared in the countryside would know this is not right,
For a Friesian's life's ambition is converting grass to shite!

And though they live all day in fields, with room to drop their load,
They always seem to save it up, and carpet-bomb the road!
Now Yer Man got up a bit too close to this lovely rural scene,
And the whole front of his lovely car got painted brown and green.

And when he wound his window down, a loud complaint to make,
He got some more 'collateral damage', right across the bake!
So all in all, the tea we had was a somewhat strained affair,
For Jeremy just moaned and groaned about his lovely car.

The countryside was beautiful - each field a perfect scene,
But those farming chappies really ought to try and keep it clean!
They've reared these blasted animals from calf to milking cow,
Yet they defecate upon the road - they should be trained by now!

When the awful meal was over, I went out for a walk,
For I'm not the greatest in the world at making fancy talk.
I got back near the edge of dark, it must've been half eight,
When I spied her brother Michael, leaning sadly on the gate.

'How's the big romance?' says I, and he answered, somewhat loth,
"If she marries thon big asshole, we'll be scundered with them both!"
Now this lad was a skinhead, and he had less brains than hair,
And more ear tags than a bullock on it's way to Newtown fair.

But at that moment we agreed, two minds with but one theme,
When a sudden notion struck me - a really lovely scheme!
Says I "I've got a cunning plan, that might just work, with luck"
"D'ye think could you give me a hand to catch oul' Paddy's Buck?"

Now Paddy was a neighbour man, with goats that roamed at will,
And the leader of this wandering band was a big old smelly bill.
You knew when he was coming, for his smell went on ahead,
Like a cross between a pig farm and a rat that's three weeks dead.

He terrorized the countryside, men and women, dogs and sheep,
He was used to threaten children who wouldn't go to sleep!
He had butted seven women, two policemen, and a car,
Plus five Marine Commandos, and fourteen UDR!

He would tackle any living thing that ever had been born,
He even gave Parish Priest a good dose of the horn!
Me and him got on the best - we had a non-aggression pact.
He knew I had walking stick, and his arse had once been whacked!

So Michael went and gathered up some nice sweet grass to use
To make the goat an offer that he just could not refuse!
We led him softly up the yard, and we slid the window wide,
And made sure he was watching, as we placed the grass inside.

Peace had broken out, it seemed, inside the little room,
The trials of the day forgot, and love once more in bloom.
Tea and buns had just been brought, and a brand new biscuit tin,
When a wee breeze stirred the curtains, and something wafted in.

As Jeremy raised cup to lip, his hand in mid-air froze,
As a strange and foul aroma assailed his cultured nose.
And when he moved the curtain, to investigate the smell,
He found himself six inches from a face straight out of hell!

His scream was long and piercing, and he jumped up three feet high,
The cup of tea that he had held went flying through the sky!
And of course, as luck would have it, young Mary bore the brunt,
For the contents of the cup of tea all landed down her front.

Them wonderbras they tell me, heads 'em out, and rounds 'em up,
But when it comes to scalding liquid, they'd hold damn near half a cup!
Now I've read of saintly women, who bore pain in silent prayer,
But to cross your heart with burning tea was more than she could bear.

She yelled, and jumped, and capered, in a wild and screaming spin,
While tearing at the roasting cloth that was glued unto her skin!
She called yer man a list of names, in language far from nice,
She was not a girl for one cross word, when a dozen would suffice!

The noise brought mother through the door, going hell for leather,
She saw the torn and shredded blouse, and put two and two together!
A couple of my old walking sticks were standing in a rack,
And in a thrice she grabbed one, and whacked him o'er the back!

He tried to run towards the door, but the women blocked his way,
He ducked and dived this way and that, like a cornered rat at bay.
In vain he tried to protest, but the words stuck in his throat,
So he dived out through the window, and he landed on the goat!

Now the goat had got an awful shock, when yer man yelled in his face,
His horns had caught the curtains, and they held him fast in place.
He was struggling still to break the grip, when the boyo hit him hard,
So he ripped them right out of the wall, and buck-lepped up the yard.

Yer man hung on with tooth and claw, like a monstrous carbuncle,
But the jockey was unseated, just they cleared the 'duncle'!
At least the landing ground was soft, with squelchy bits in places,
It's amazing just how well the stuff can stick to suits - and faces!

He struggled up, and staggered out - then he heard them roar his name,
And he reached the car in two buck-leps that put the goat to shame!
The inside to the lovely car had still been clean and neat,
But we heard a sort of squelchy sound, as his trousers hit the seat!

He roared away like a superstar from a Rally Driving class,
And down the lane like the Hounds of Hell were snapping at his ass!
Michael sneaked back to his room, and I didn't come home till ten,
And asked if Jeremy had gone - full of innocent concern!

I was informed, through gritted teeth, that he had not been well,
And gathered that he might be back, on the first cold day in Hell!
The best-laid plans o' mice and men, gang aft aglae, it seems,
But our plan had come together, beyond our wildest dreams!