If you go back some 300 years,
French settlers, with very few fears,
 Headed for the new world
With sails unfurled,
To the accompaniment of many cheers.

Not being one to gloat
I'll pass over the state of their boat,
 But the sails were all torn
 And the rigging so worn
It's a wonder the thing stayed afloat.

Sure enough, after only a week,
The decrepit old hulk sprang a leak,
 But with the help of an oar
 They paddled ashore
In a reed-strewn, muddy small creek.
Their leader composed then a song.
It was short - not at all long.
 Of five little lines
 Which did not all rhyme,
Not realizing they had gone wrong.

It was not a Virginian creek,
not the country for which they did seek.
 It was on Ireland's turf 
 They stood watching the surf,
And not as they thought, L'Amerique.

(Acknowledgements to the BBC radio show, 
"I'm sorry I haven't a Clue" for the idea.)

Tiddy Ogg, king of the Cornish piss-takers.

Limerick health warning.

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Last updated: Fri, 10 Sep 1999.