The Poitin Song chords by The Irish Rovers

SimplifiedF · C · D · E · B …

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Verse 1
F 
Let your quacks and newspapers
C 
be cutting their capers
F 
And curing the vapors,
D 
the scratch or the gout
F 
With their magical potions,
C 
their pills and their lotions
F 
C 
Upholding their no tions,
F 
well, they're mighty put out
What's good for the sneezing,
the coughing and wheezing
C 
F 
Likewise will be azing,
cram colic or spleen
Well, you'll know it, I think,
C 
if you take a big drink
F 
With your mouth full to the brink
C 
E 
of a jug of poitin
C 
F 
So, stick to the crater,
the best thing in nature
C 
F 
For sinking your sorrows
and raising your joys
It's one of life's pleasures
E 
C 
to sip at your leisure
F 
It's Ireland's own treasure,
the poitin, boys
As a child in the cradle
E 
me nurse with her ladle
F 
was filling me mouth with an ocean of pop
Till a drop from her bottle
fell into me throttle.
C 
I capered and toppled all
F 
E 
out of her lap
C 
E 
On the floor I lay squalling
F 
and screaming and bawling
E 
F 
Till my parents came calling
E 
F 
and stepped to the floor
E 
All sobbing and sighing
C 
they thought I was dying
F 
But I  was just crying
E 
for a drop or two more.
B 
D# 
F 
So, stick to the crater,
the best thing in nature,
E 
F 
For sinking your sorrows
and raising your joys.
It's one of life's pleasures
E 
to sip at your leisure,
Am 
E 
It's Ire land's own treasure,
F 
the Pudge in me boys.
E 
Come guess me this riddle,
B 
what baits, pipes and fiddle
E 
Was hotter than mustard
C# 
and smoother than cream?
E 
What best would your whistle?
B 
Was clearer than crystal,
E 
Was sweeter than honey
G# 
D# 
E 
and stronger than steam?
B 
E 
What'll make the lamb walk?
What'll make the dumb talk?
The elixir of life,
the philosopher's stone?
And might help Mr. Brunnell
B 
to dig the Thames Tunnel
E 
B 
Sure wasn't it pochin'
E 
from Owl in a shawn
B 
E 
D# 
E 
So stick to the crater,
the best thing in nature
D# 
E 
For sinkin' your sorrows
and raisin' your joys
It's one of life's pleasures
B 
to sip at your leisure
E 
B 
It's irons on treasure,
E 
they're patching me boys.
Well the English I'm thinking,
D# 
E 
to say that they're drinking,
And their glasses are clinking,
D# 
C# 
while their senses take leave.
E 
Should they'll soon be demented,
D# 
from apples fermented,
E 
Just look what tar minted,
D# 
bought Adam and Eve.
E 
Now the French have their brandy,
it makes them quite randy,
B 
E 
And they find it goes handy
D# 
E 
within her arty
And a single malt whisky
can make the Scots frisky
G#m 
E 
But for quenching the thirst,
D# 
it's the Pudgeon for me
E 
D# 
So stick to  the crater,
E 
the best thing in nature
D# 
E 
For sinking your sorrows
and raising your joys
It's one of life's pleasures,
to sip at your leisure.
D# 
E 
It's irons on treasure.
The Pudgy Millie Boys!
Have another drink, boys.
There we go.
That's Sean O'Driscoll. Well done.