My Name is Patrick.

They are my people.
They cannot be trusted.

Make sure none of the red-nosed
little rowdies remain hidden
in your abode after the
tourney. The little drunk pests
are difficult to get rid of.

Theid mi mach a chur an t-sioil
An ainm an Ti a thug da fas,
Cuirim m' aghaidh anns a ghaoith,
Is tilgim baslach caon an gird.
Ma thuiteas silc air lic luim,
Cha bhi fuinn aige gu fas;
Mheud's a thuiteas anns an uir,
Bheir an druchd dha a bhi lan.


Di-aoine la nam buadh,
Thig dealt a nuas a chur failt
Air gach por a bha 'n an suain,
Bho na thainig fuachd gun bhaigh;
Friamhaichidh gach por's an uir,
Mar a mhiannaich Righ nan dul,
Thig an fochann leis an druchd,
Gheobh e beatha bho 'n ghaoith chiuin.


Thig mi mu 'n cuairt le m' cheum,
Theid mi deiseil leis a ghrein,
An ainm Airil's nan aingeal naodh,
An ainm Ghabril's nan ostal caomh.
Athair is Mac is Spiorad Naomh,
Bhi toir fas is toradh maoth
Do gach cail a ta 'n am raon,
Gon tar an latha caon.


La Fheill Micheil, la nam buadh,
Cuiridh mi mo chorran cuart
Bun an arbhair mar bu dual,
Togam an ceud bheum gu luath;
Cuirim e tri char mu 'n cuart
Mo cheann, 's mo rann ga luadh,
Mo chulaibh ris an airde tuath;
'S mo ghnuis ri grein ghil nam buadh.


Tilgim am beum fada bhuam,
Duinim mo dha shuil da uair,
Ma thuiteas e na aon dual
Bithidh mo chruachan biochar buan;
Cha tig Cailleach ri an-uair
Dh' iarraidh bonnach boise bhuainn,
Duair thig gaillionn garbh na gruaim
Cha bhi gainne oirnn no cruas.


The above is an Irish song about sewing
the seed. If they try and put a kilt on you,
dont fall for it.