John Scott Cree 3q7330

    John Scott Cree
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    Paddy, Me Bhoy 504w4q

    John Scott Cree 3q7330


    It is of an American
    A tale to you I'll tell
    To find ancestral roots he came
    To Ireland for a spell
    The last night was a banquet,
    The best he'd ever seen
    And while he dined an orchestra
    Was playing evergreens

    He ate and drank and drank and ate
    And listened to the songs
    And all the while he hoped for one
    Where he could sing along
    So he approached the leader
    To ask his orchestra
    If they would play a favourite
    Of his Irish grandmother

    "She sang to me when at her knee
    I played with childhood toys
    I thought tonight I'd hear you play
    Her song 'Paddy me boy'
    "It was", said he "a rare old song
    My grandmother's great joy
    So please be quick and wave your stick
    And play 'Paddy me boy'"

    The orchestra were at a loss,
    They didn't know the tune
    The leader said "Its getting late,
    We're due to finish soon
    But we're here to please you,
    We've no wish to annoy
    If you can hum or whistle it,
    We'll play 'Paddy me boy'"

    He smiled his modest smile,
    He'd much to be shy about
    He had a think, he took a drink,
    Was this a moment's doubt?
    He blew his nose, he cleared his throat,
    He coughed and struck a pose
    "I'm not much of a singer, but
    I'll do my best, here goes"

    Oh…oh…oh…Oh Paddy me boy, is that the Chattanooga choo choo?

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