Dangerous Pat McHugh

Jimmy Rafferty, 2006

 A bunch of the boys were whooping it up,
in a South Armagh saloon,
Some kid was feeding the jukebox,
to put on an Emimem tune.
The lads at the bar, were all having a jar,
and thinking that life was just great,
Their Giros all cashed, their diesel all washed,
and pigs a good price in the 'state.
A couple of oul' farts, were playing at darts,
(301 start and end on a double)
Not the kind of a night, you expected a fight,
or anyone looking for trouble.
Now down by the band, with a pint in his hand,
sat Dangerous Pat McHugh
And sat by his side, was his blushing bride,
Big Patricia that works in the 'broo.
Well, I'm telling Yis now, she was one ugly cow,
with a face that would scare Simon Cowell
Lipstick and mascara, wheeled in by the barra,
and slapped on with a plastering trowel
Her bra, it was said, was size 84Z,
with reinforced steel in the hook
She was seventeen stone of muscle and bone,
with more chins than a Chinese phone book
Her arse was that wide, that viewed from the side,
she looked like Rugby scrum flanker,
And when seen from behind, sure it just brought to mind,
a giant Redrock slurry tanker.
She'd teeth like Red Rum, and with that massive bum,
all she needed was blinkers and reins
And her jeans were that tight, that in a good light,
you could count all her varicose veins
Now Dangerous Pat was a skinny wee rat,
with a bumfluff 'tash on his lip,
He'd a squint in one eye, and the other had a sty,
and his nose always held a wee drip.
He had acne gone wild, since he was a child,
and his mug was all covered in spots,
His face had the look, of a wee childer's book,
where the wean has to join up the dots.
He had a white van, and a really good plan,
for shifting 'green gold' o'er the border,
He would take down your note, and give you a quote,
and deliver the stuff to your order,
Inside the back door, from the roof to the floor,
bales of hay were all that was seen
But in behind that, was a big plastic vat,
holding thousands of litres of green!
He was rolling in cash, and he had a big stash,
in banks from Shanghai to Havana
From his ill-gotten gain, he'd a Villa in Spain,
and a big house up near Cullyhanna
If my memory serves, he had more oil reserves,
than the whole of Kuwait and Iraq,
He had talks out in Spain, with a Prince of Bahrain,
to see about joining OPEC
He had cornered the trade, in good premium grade,
and for prices you just couldn't bate him.
If he had any more, it would be certain sure,
that the Yanks were going to invade him!
He was feared far and wide, as a nasty wee spide,
who carried a big hurley stick,
Which he used, with bad grace, for adjusting the face,
of anyone who got on his wick.
It was coming half nine, and was all going fine,
some oul boy had been playing guitar,
He had just took a break, and gone out for a leak,
and left all his stuff by the bar.
Then the door was slammed wide, a man staggered inside,
and stared all around, full of rage
He wore oul dungarees, tied with twine at the knees,
and a hat that was shiny with age,
With a torn body warmer, just like an oul farmer,
his pockets were bulging with twine,
He had wellies turned down, covered in something brown,
that might well have come from a bovine.
Well, he made for the bar, but he saw the guitar,
and he flopped himself down by the mike,
Stuck his foot on a rung, and the song that he sung,
stuck into each man like a pike.
Every woman and man, from the 'Cross to Glenanne,
were used to the great empty hills,
Where the whins and the heather all grow up together,
and the grass is all full of sheep's pills
Where the wind is like ice, and would cut like a slice,
and freeze the milk in a Nanny Goat's 'elder'
And each winter's morn, in the cold light of dawn,
the brass monkeys all queue for the welder
But the stranger's sad song, brought a tear to the throng,
who sat round that old barroom floor
For his voice was so shit, that he should have been hit,
with the stone outside Dan Murphy's door
He sang of a love, sent from God above,
with two hearts that completely entwine
He sang of the day, when it all went away,
betrayed by a nasty wee swine
Well, he finished the song, and he gazed round the throng,
and his voice it was deadly and calm
"Now, Boys", says he, "Yis do not know me,
and none of yis are giving one damn,
But one yis know well, is a hound out of Hell,
and I'll wager yis can all guess who,
For the dirty wee spide, who stole my dear bride,
is Dangerous Pat McHugh!
I taught him the game, at which he became,
the king of the smugglers and rogues,
And when I turned my back, not expecting attack,
he stepped into my size seven brogues
He stole my own love, the girl sent from above,
stole her right out of my hand
But he done worse than that, the dirty wee rat,
for he stole my Bloody White Van!"
He threw off his coat, and reached up to his throat,
and then every man started to gape,
For hung down his back, by a string round his neck,
was an old, but well sharpened, dung graip.
He shouted "Now Pat, you sneaky wee rat,
I'm hauling you over the coals,
You'll be needin' some tape, for I'm taking this graip,
and making you four new arseholes
For when I am done, you'll be houlin' your bum,
you will not be looking so cute,
You dirty oul dog, you'll going to the bog,
like an Orangeman playing the flute"
Well, Pat, he jumped up, spilling half of his cup,
and roared "Patricia, This thing is a farce"
"Hand me that hurley stick"
which she did double quick -
it was hid down the sheugh of her arse.
It was a hell of a fight, it went on half the night,
for each one was as drunk as the other,
They walloped and thumped, and cavorted and bumped,
and it really was not worth the bother.
They broke all the glasses, they lit on their asses,
fell asleep and re-started the fight,
It would have gone on, right through to the dawn,
if some guy hadn't turned out the light
The fear it was stark - both were scared of the dark,
their childhood fears resurrected
And then in their terror, and purely in error,
two blows accidentally connected.
The lights they came on, too late - they were gone,
the stranger lay dead as a stone
For Pat's mighty ash, had opened a gash,
right through his cranial bone
And Pat too did die, his oil had run dry,
with the graip planted deep in his hide.
It went six inches in - he was that bloody thin,
it stuck three inches out the far side.
He lay gasping his last, lamenting his past,
for his doings had led to his doom,
And reason he fell, he could see now so well,
was over across the barroom,
By the stranger's side, just proving the pride,
and the folly of things that men do,
For cashing his docket, and emptying his pocket,
was Big Patricia that works in the 'broo.