There once was a crawdad named Claude,
His claws were overly broad,
If you gave him one inch,
That's just what he'd pinch,
And, off that inch his claw sawed.
Pam saw a pizza face down in the street, She figured the Pizza was still good to eat, She didn't mind the bugs, Or, slimy old slugs, She got so sick she couldn't stand on her feet.
The poor little Leprechaun was feeling real bad, For he lost all of his gold and that was so sad, Then, while watching the antique show Pickers, He soiled his knickers, For his gold was the best pick that they had.
The poor antique show pickers are feeling real bad, They found the Leprechaun's gold and he got real mad, They got a pain-in-the-back curse, And, what was even much worse, The gold was not solid just clad.
They came in ships from across the sea, They joined into my family tree, From County Cork on the Irish Isle, They brought to America their Irish style, And, every year I raise a glass, To the Irish ghosts of kin I pass, So, to Grandma Murphy I say cheers, And, God willing I will for many years.
The Ides Of March is a time to fear, The warming weather skunks my beer, The softening of the swampy land, Prepares great traps of quickened sand, I do not embrace the Ides as dear, They come each month year after year, And, on the Ides I am a sleeper, Thus, I avoid dear Caesar's reaper.
Hilda baked a pin cherry pie, She forgot sugar and the tartness makes me cry, And, if I eat more than one piece, I fear I'll give up life's lease, When, my face puckers so tight that I die.