Ireland, Oh Ireland

Drill Ye Tarriers, Drill

St. Paddy's Wagon

Black Eyed Susan

A Sheep For Mr. Wolff

Ah Dee Oh Da

The Poteen Man

Me Father Was A Shepherd

The Choir From Hell

The Shirt That No One Wore

My Donegal

Every Step Of The Road

The Choir From Hell

Well I been in Kearny and I heard the Blarney
In the lonely streets at dawn
If the dirty boys want the dirty whisky
Fer sure, I give 'em what they want
Now the garbage mounds rising from the ground
They can hide more than the view
Say an unkind word to some little turd
You're resting in the bubbling spew

If you kick around in the bars of Jersey
You get kicked around as well
If when you sing with me in the bars of Jersey
Then you're singing with The Choir From Hell

You can watch the docks, going round the clock
And there ain't no college boys there
Men that make their pay in a world of grey
Then spend it all on a beer
A container box got a busted lock
But if'n you help yourself,
You spend eternity in the oily sea
At the bottom of the Arthur Kill

Then it's down the shore and you know what for
Gotta get a little Seaside fun
But the little sister had a twisted mister
Poor baby she was Born to Run
Sure the lights are pretty in Atlantic City
But the shadows hide the pain
Oh the girls at night disappear from sight
Should they break the rules of the game

From her northern hills to the southern pines
To her sprawling shopping malls
Well I chugged her beers and I slopped her whisky
And many a Pub I crawled
So then some sad day should you cross my way
I got many a lie to tell
I'm the wee old man with the devil's hand
I'm Recruiting for the Choir From Hell

© Trip McCool/ Dennis Dougherty