The Weather

The Weather


Clarks are selling shoes no more

Sure who the feck would buy them.

They’re chucking out stilettos and stocking up on flippers

And bringing in a lead based trim

To keep you grounded in your slippers.

But still and all, it’s not enough

That wind would life you high,

And the rain that falls as sheet ice

Would have out both your eyes.


The weather comes in from the west

And it’s brutal as the norm,

Let’s get the petrol guzzlers round the world

To Inishbofin in a storm

Yis don’t believe in climate change?

We’re nearly drowning, that’s the proof

So give the Irish all your money so we can

Build a shagging roof.


Cork is underwater, Panna’s been taken by the Lee

There are floats and boats upon the street

And none upon the sea.

C’mere a while I want ya

Say the rebels to the gales

Shag off up to Dublin and leave us the feck alone

“I will Yeah” says the weather, which in Cork of course means No

And the sneaky little shagger turned around and gave them snow.


You know, the culchies come to the capital to work among the Dubs

And bleed us dry of water when they want to have a scrub,

They like to preen themselves for Coppers, to try to look their best,

Bet they wish they pumped their water now, that they’re flooded in the west!


I’m guessing on conspiracy ‘cos we’ve had ten storms in a row,

With roads ripped up and buildings felled,

Construction’s sure to grow.

There’ll be plane loads into Dublin,

As the builders all come back,

Then Enda’ll stop his rain dance,

To pat himself upon the back!


A Sinead Hamill Original

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