CaliCeltic · Lyrics & Chords · Track 7

The Humours of Whiskey/Stick to the Craytur/Paddy's Panacea

Lyrics

The fake news in the feeds And the blogs that you read Say you can frighten a fever Or cure an aul cough! Those podcasting ads, With their medical fads, Pills, potions, and jabs, Where do they get off? Would you know true physic to banish pathetic, To put to the devil The sickness you’ve seen? You’ll find it, I think If you take a big drink, Put your lips to the brink Of a jar of poitín So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature To sink all your sorrows And raise all your joys. For your CONsideration: No dose in the nation Can give consolation Like whiskey, me boys. — VERSE 2 — No liquid cosmetic for lovers athletic Or faces pathetic can give such a bloom As for sweet? By the powers, A whole garden of flowers Never granted their bowers such a darling perfume. The liquid so rare, if you willingly share, Is a cure for one’s hair going missing or dead. Sure this sauce has the spirit Your follicles hear it! To electrify every hair on your head So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. Since it’s perfection, No doctor’s direction Can guard the complexion Like whiskey, me boys! — VERSE 3 — As a babe in my cradle My nurse, with a ladle, Was filling my mouth with a notion of pep When a drop from her bottle Fell into my throttle I capered and wriggled right out of her lap! On the floor I lay squalling, Screaming and bawling, ‘Til my mother and father were called to the fore. Sobbing and sighing, Believed I was dying, But soon found I only Was crying for more. So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. Oh how we’d all chuckle If babes in their truckle, They only could suckle On whiskey, me boys. — VERSE 4 — Through my youthful ingression Of years of depression My childhood impression Remained in my mind. For at school or at college The bolus of knowledge I never could gulp Til with whiskey combined. As older I’m growing Time’s ever bestowing To Erin’s potation a flavor so fine Although they may lecture On Jove and his nectar Itself is the only true liquor divine. So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. Oh Lord, tis delighting For courting or fighting, There’s naught so exciting As whiskey, my boys. — VERSE 5 — Come guess me this riddle: What beats pipe and fiddle? What’s stronger than mustard And milder than cream? What best wets your whistle? What’s clearer than crystal, Sweeter than honey, And stronger than steam? What makes the dumb talk, What makes the lame walk, The elixir of life, the philosopher’s stone? Sure what helped Mr Brunnell Dig the Thames tunnel If not Irish whiskey From old Inishowen? So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. Oh Lord, I’d not wonder If lightning and thunder Were made from the plunder Of whiskey, me boys. So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. There’s nothing like whiskey To make maidens frisky To separate quickly The men from the boys

Chords & Lyrics

Paddy’s Panacea/ The Humours of Whiskey Capo 3 G The fake news in the feeds And the blogs that you read C G Say you can frighten a fever D C Or cure an aul cough! G Those podcasting ads, With their medical fads, C G Pills, potions, and jabs, D G Where do they get off? D Would you know true physic C G to banish pathetic, D To put to the devil C G The sickness you’ve seen? Em C You’ll find it, I think G C If you take a big drink, G C Put your lips to the brink D G Of a jar of poitín *** CHORUS **** D So stick the the craythur C G The best thing in nature D To sink all your sorrows C G And raise all your joys. *** Em C For your CONsideration: G C No dose in the nation G C Can give consolation D G Like whiskey, me boys. — VERSE 2 — No liquid cosmetic for lovers athletic Or faces pathetic can give such a bloom As for sweet? By the powers, A whole garden of flowers Never granted their bowers such a darling perfume. The liquid so rare, if you willingly share, Is a cure for one’s hair going missing or dead. Sure this sauce has the spirit Your follicles hear it! To electrify every hair on your head So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. Since it’s perfection, No doctor’s direction Can guard the complexion Like whiskey, me boys! — VERSE 3 — As a babe in my cradle My nurse, with a ladle, Was filling my mouth with a notion of pep When a drop from her bottle Fell into my throttle I capered and wriggled right out of her lap! On the floor I lay squalling, Screaming and bawling, ‘Til my mother and father were called to the fore. Sobbing and sighing, Believed I was dying, But soon found I only Was crying for more. So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. Oh how we’d all chuckle If babes in their truckle, They only could suckle On whiskey, me boys. — VERSE 4 — Through my youthful ingression Of years of depression My childhood impression Remained in my mind. For at school or at college The bolus of knowledge I never could gulp Til with whiskey combined. As older I’m growing Time’s ever bestowing To Erin’s potation a flavor so fine Although they may lecture On Jove and his nectar Itself is the only true liquor divine. So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. Oh Lord, tis delighting For courting or fighting, There’s naught so exciting As whiskey, my boys. — VERSE 5 — Come guess me this riddle: What beats pipe and fiddle? What’s stronger than mustard And milder than cream? What best wets your whistle? What’s clearer than crystal, Sweeter than honey, And stronger than steam? What makes the dumb talk, What makes the lame walk, The elixir of life, the philosopher’s stone? Sure what helped Mr Brunnell Dig the Thames tunnel If not Irish whiskey From old Inishowen? So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. Oh Lord, I’d not wonder If lightning and thunder Were made from the plunder Of whiskey, me boys. So stick the the craythur The best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows And raising your joys. There’s nothing like whiskey To make maidens frisky To separate quickly The men from the boys Paddy’s Panacea/ The Humours of Whiskey CONCERT PITCH Bb Bb The fake news in the feeds And the blogs that you read Eb Bb Say you can frighten a fever F Eb Or cure an aul cough Bb Those podcasting ads, With their medical fads, Eb Bb Pills, potions, and jabs, F Bb Where do they get off? F Would you know true physic Eb Bb to banish pathetic, F To put to the devil Eb Bb The sickness you’ve seen? Gm Eb You’ll find it, I think Bb Eb If you take a big drink, Bb Eb Put your lips to the brink F Bb Of a jar of poitín *** CHORUS **** F So stick the the craythur Eb Bb The best thing in nature F To sink all your sorrows Eb Bb And raise all your joys. *** Gm Eb For your CONsideration: Bb Eb No dose in the nation Bb Eb Can give consolation F Bb Like whiskey, me boys.