Lyrics
NO PORTER ON PADDY’S
By Seán Lightholder
In the year 2020
A terrible plague hit the land
March 17th is a day you’ll be busy
If you’re in an Irish band.
But not that year.
Every flute, every fiddle stayed home
Not that year:
The year all the pubs were closed
There’s no porter, no porter on Paddy’s
No bog roll at all on the shelves
There’ll be no pints of black
And ye can’t have the craíc
Unless it’s at home by yourselves
(flute motif)
Stay-O!
Virus come and we gotta stay home!
Stay-Home! And we stay and we stay and we stay and we stay
and we stay-ee-ho-ome.
Virus come and we gotta stay home!
The year there was no porter on Paddy’s
A man couldn’t cry in his beer
The river flowed blue in Chicago
And the drunk tanks of Boston were clear
There’s no porter, no porter on Paddy’s
No bog roll at all on the shelves
There’ll be no pints of black
And ye can’t have the craíc
Unless it’s at home by yourselves
I went for a porter that Paddy’s
But the pubs, every one, they were closed
Far away was the fizzing of cider
And a neon beer sign for your nose
There’s no porter, no porter on Paddy’s
No bog roll at all on the shelves
There’ll be no pints of black
And ye can’t have the craíc
Unless it’s at home by yourselves
A virus might give you a headache
It might leave you sick through the night
But many a Paddy’s Day
Sure, didn’t I get that way
With just a few too many pints?
There’s no porter, no porter on Paddy’s
No bog roll at all on the shelves
There’ll be no pints of black
And ye can’t have the craíc
Unless it’s at home by yourselves
Unless it’s at home by yourselves