Monday Starbucks

I just finished teaching my ENG 206 and 102 classes and find myself with a Pellegrino at the university Starbucks, my writing/watering hole. I’ve got another class at 5:30, which I’ve got to prepare for.  I love this place—so many memories here. When I really want to grind out several hours of work, this seems to my best work station. This week is not really crowded, as I’ve only got one signing–at the BAM in Bossier on Saturday. Next week will be a different story with signings from Wednesday through Saturday. Those are all in Texas. So, I need to use that time to prepare university tests, grade papers, handle some chores, etc. I’ve got so much work I need and want to do on my house. A lot of junk I need to get rid of too. I’d try to plan a yard sale, but all my Saturdays are full through Christmas. I decided to post the lyrics of a song I’d like to incorporate into my Civil War show/program. It’s called, “Paddy’s Lamentation.”

Paddy’s Lamentation

Well it’s by the hush, me boys, and sure that’s to hold your noise
And listen to poor Paddy’s sad narration
I was by hunger pressed, and in poverty distressed
So I took a thought I’d leave the Irish nation

Here’s to you boys, now take my advice
To America I’ll have ye’s not be going
There is nothing here but war, where the murderin’ cannons roar
And I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin

Well I sold me ass and cow, my little pigs and sow
My little plot of land I soon did part with
And me sweetheart Bid McGee, I’m afraid I’ll never see
For I left her there that morning broken-hearted

Well meself and a hundred more, to America sailed o’er
Our fortunes to be made [sic] we were thinkin’
When we got to Yankee land, they shoved a gun into our hands
Saying “Paddy, you must go and fight for Lincoln”

General Meagher to us he said, if you get shot or lose your head
Every murdered soul of youse will get a pension
Well meself I lost me leg, they gave me a wooden peg,
And by God this is the truth to you I mention

Well I think meself in luck, if I get fed on Indian buck
And old Ireland is the country I delight in
With the devil, I do say, it’s curse Americay
For I think I’ve had enough of your hard fightin’