Padraig Ruad

A Poem

Padraig Ruad, Padraig Ruad, oh, why do you drink so?
You've been singing through the night; the cock's begun to crow
You'll face the dawn with bleary eyes and Court with an aching head
You crazy, drunken Irishman, why won't you go to bed?

For four long weeks in every month, I toil and labor hard
And no one out there knows me as Padraig Ruad, the bard
So when these times come round at last, I throw caution to the wind
I've only forty hours to get all my reveling in

I take joy in every moment spent around the bardic fire
And every song and every drink just lifts my spirit higher
So when I'm with my people here, who I know and love so well
I savor every moment and breathe in the magic spell

O Padraig Ruad, you singing sot, you still go stumbling 'round
Declaring that "I'm not so drunk" as you fall upon the ground
Do you say that such a state indeed should be the rule?
Don't you think that acting thus will make you seem a fool?

I'll worry not what some may think or what a few may say
The folk who matter most to me will no attention pay
To trifling foolish things I do, alone or in a crowd
As long as I can sing The Ball of Ballynure quite loud

So listen all you people who have nothing else to do
But sit around and tut at those who don't act like you do
I'll live my life the way I please, and fie to those who think
That what they call my foolishness can all be blamed on drink

Life is meant for living, and alive I mean to be
Until the day the soft green earth is covered over me
So raise your glasses, sing with me, and make a joyful sound
We'll seize the day most merrily - and have another round