Many of you have asked for lyrics from our original songs to be printed. Here they are!

From Paddy’s Pig “Maple & Wire” (2008)

Ring On A Chain (Missy Gibson/Mike Flanagan)

There’s a hole in heart, I suppose it shall never mend

It reminds me that he gone, never to return

Some did find me plain, but he took my hand the same

Said not for the purse I wore, vowed that his love was pure

CHORUS:

There’s a ring on a chain, hangs close to my heart

To remind me of the pain, To lose the one I never had

His body in a lake, It had fallen from above

But the question still remains …

Did he fall or was he shoved?

It’s true he won my love

Despite his drinking and his brood

But he began to pull away, and a shifting of his mood

But he was a gambler’s son and before two months were done

He’d come home after dark, and my kisses he would shun

repeat CH

One night I followed him, out past the cobbler’s shed

Holding court with a maid, but I couldn’t hear what was said

Then I saw him touch her hair, and frozen there I was

With a stabbing in my heart, betrayed by the man I loved

 In shadows I did follow, hidden from their site

Up to the cliff, the landcast  I stood trembling from above

repeat CH

The next morning came too slowly, and I had penned a note

Disguised my writing and left it in his long black coat

 Begging him to meet me, upon the cliff I wrote

Praying that his body might sink instead of float.

repeat CH 2x

Maple and Wire (Mike Flanagan)

 I’ve seen them at their desks

with the rope around their necks

Twisted as a smart spotted tie

And I’ve seen them clutching drinks

At the pub, like zombies, thinking

That maybe they’ve already died

No matter where I go

There’s people there who know

That life is no barrow of roses

So why do they seem convinced?

How can it make any sense that

They are the only ones who know it?

Chorus:

But we’re still here

We’ve not yet been consumed by the fire

We’re still here

We’re surviving on maple and wire

Surviving on maple and wire

Sure, it don’t seem heaven-sent

When you can barely pay the rent

And it’s feast from time to time

But mostly famine

But we’re not in it for the fame

Or great fortune for to gain

But the feeling in the music, drink and dancing.

[chorus]

There’s an artist with a hood

And a scythe, who’s very good

At turning our fine bodies into ruins

And soon he’ll be through with us

And relinquishing his brush

So we could stand to bring some life

To what we’re doing

[chorus]

From Paddy’s Pig “Do Your Worst” (2011)

 Do Yer Worst  (Missy Gibson/Mike Flanagan)

 When I was barely a boy they noticed my wrists

And clear as day my pitchfork veins

And before too long sure I was talking in tongues

But it weren’t me parents’ God instead some cruel betrayal

To the priest me mother did plead—

   “Rid him of this awful spell!”

When I was barely ten it took twelve men

To subdue my rapt possession till my eyes rolled back again

And what I was told when I was twenty years old:

‘Til the banshee wails the devil’s got me in a stranglehold

To the priest me mother did plead—

   “Rid him of this awful spell!”

And with the sign of the cross

I could kneel and pray until the bitter end

   But I can’t get it out of me

So do you worst and do it again

   I just can’t get it out.  Get it out of me.

For awhile they had suspected that their Christ was resurrected

Before the exorcism and escape

Yeah now I try to blend in but I just can’t keep no friends

Bleeding feet and palms draws me apart from other honest men

But father raised his hand up high

   To dash me with a cross of gold

And the sinner deep inside…

So do your worst and do it again

   You won’t get it out of me

And I could fight until the bitter end

   I just can’t get it out.  Get it out of me.

So I just sit here in this bar

   Waiting for that howl in the wind

And until that day comes

I could drink until the bitter end

   But I can’t get it out of me

So do you worst and do it again

   I just can’t get it out.  Get it out of me.

The Faithful Old Busker  (Mike Flanagan)

He’s a sport, he’s a champ, he’s a worthless old tramp

Depending on where you inquire

With his instruments, pipes and his own colored lights

Self-sufficient and mobile, a fresh empty coffer each night

When he starts on a tune, it’s so strange and so new

Unlike any within earshot have heard

And he could not have found any less common ground

With the ones he would hope to provide him a couple of pounds

Chorus:

And he knows that he might end up dead in a ditch

Every day when he walks out the door

And the faithful old busker is not getting rich

And he’s starting to think more and more – can I take this?

No more, no more

Don’t think he can take it no more

With a nod and a wink, he’s far more than you’d think

An ocean of powerful skills

With his hair going white it gets harder each night

To ignore how the folks passing by always act less than thrilled

[chorus]

I stand in the shadows, and wait in the rain

With a cup and a sorrowful face

And I reckon I’m given far more than my man

I’ve nothing to offer, I can’t understand

While he works a hundred times more than I can

Afraid to approach him, but I may be his only fan

[chorus]

DRINK THE WHOLE PUB  (Damon Pipitone/Mike Flanagan)

V1:

Missy:              Good morning Flanagan, is drinking your plan again?

I’ve seen you this surly, man, never this early, man

Mike:               Good morning Gibson, my good friend and guvnor

A round for my sweetheart who found a new lover

Missy:              Whiskey for breakfast, it just ain’t right

Mike:               But if I ain’t been to sleep yet, then it’s still last night

CH:    

Both:               Drink the whole pub to forget about you

A simple diversion it's something to do

So line up the bottles and when I am through

I'll find the next pub and I'll drink that one too

 V2:
Missy:              Good afternoon, it has been several hours

                        One more empty glass, could your thirst be so powerful?

Mike:               It seems not strong enough, a glass at a time is tough

                        A gallon jug’s better, still better a showerful!

Missy:              We’ve that much and more if your money holds out

Mike:               For a comment like that, bring a bucket of stout!

[Chorus]

 V3:

Missy:              Good evening you’re going strong,

the lass clearly done you wrong

                        But the night’s at it’s ending, there’s no use pretending

Mike:               Well you serve a good mixture, I’ve become a new fixture

                        This pub’s the salvation for a man of my station

Missy:              Even the worst sots have all gone home to bed

Mike:               Would you leave me the keys?  I’ve not whet my thirst yet

[Chorus 2x]

The Island of the Shades  (Mike Flanagan)

Moriarty told the story of the Island of the Shades

Where the ancient Erin people went about their heathen ways

And the king was off his rocker and he had 100 wives

He had a load of trouble keeping enough of them alive

For decapitation he’d employ when their tongues got out of line

Chorus:

They’ve seen it in Ballycotton

Cork fishermen do swear

It’s been in the mouth of the Shannon

Off Carrigaholt in Clare

All the way from Antrim down to Ballydonegan Bay

No one can agree about the Island of the Shades

With a shortage of betrothed, the newest wife did take her vow

It was Peggy from Joyce Country, this new wife would not be cowed

In his usual foul mood one fine day the king did try

To lambast her, but Peggy shouted back at him with pride

And his face as red as a turkey as he raised his sword up high

[chorus]

But this Queen did have a charm that an enchanter bade her speak

That turned the villain king to stone with Peggy out of reach

And the devil wouldn’t take him so the king was cursed to stay

On this floating thing Moriarty calls the Island of the Shades

But he’s so bloody drunk should we believe a word he spake?

[chorus]

 Based on the tale “The Enchanted Island” from D.R. McAnally, Jr’s book IRISH WONDERS

© Paddy’s Pig. All rights reserved. Lyrics reprinted by permission.