Down to the Old Pub Instead

Lad, it's your duty to find ye a lass With child-bearing hips and a pink, supple ass And make her your wife and love her with love so true Now some rivers run high, some rivers run low When her river runs red, then she's starting her flow And it's called menstr'ation, and here's what it means to you You will notice her bloomers are spotty at first Stand back – her ovarian dam's gonna burst Son, don't be afraid, it's a natural t'ing Just wad up some cotton and hand her some string Put the old linens on top of the bed Get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead She'll retain her water, her breasts will be tender And every third word that you say will offend her Get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead And she'll want to make love – if you do, you're a fool 'Cause you'll only end up with a bloody O'Toole Get out of the house – down to the old pub instead And she'll want you to sample the fruit of her loins But son, it'll taste like some old rusty coins So turn off the light, boy, and take off your hat And drop to your knees, say a prayer to Saint Pat Then he'll give you the strength to get out of the bed And for Ireland's sake, go down to the old pub instead Now the pub is the place where the lads are a-meetin' When the moon's full and the gals are a-bleedin' The Catholic, the Protestant, even the pagan The pub is the place when your lady is raggin' So drink of your pint, boys, and thank your shamrocks That as menfolk we don't have to bleed from our cocks And that we can escape from the lady in red And get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead