Lament for Barney Flanagan, Licencee of the Hesperus Hotel

Flanagan got up on a Saturday morning,
Pulled on his pants while the coffee was warming:
He didn't remember the doctor's warning,
"Your heart's too big, Mr. Flanagan."

Barney Flanagan sprung like a frog
From a wet root in an Irish bog,
May his soul escape from the tooth of the dog!
God have mercy on Flanagan."

Barney Flanagan—R.I,P,
Rode to his grave on Hennessey's
Like a bottle cork boat in the Irish Sea.
The bell-boy rings for Flanagan.

Barney Flanagan, ripe for a coffin,
Eighteen stone and brandy rotten,
Patted the housemaid's velvet bottom—
"Oh, is it you, Mr. Flanagan?"

The sky was bright as a new milk token.
Bill the Bookie and Shellshock Hogan
Waited outside for the pub to open—
"Good day, Mr. Flanagan."

At noon he was drinking in the lounge bar corner
With a sergeant of police and a racehorse owner
When the Angel of Death looked over his shoulder—
"Could you spare a moment, Flanagan?"

O the deck was cut; the bets were laid;
But the very last card that Barney played
Was the Deadman's Trump, the bullet of Spades—
"Would you like more air, Mr. Flanagan?"

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The priest came running, but the priest came late,
For Barney was banging on the Pearly Gate.
St. Peter said, "Quiet! You'll have to wait
For a hundred masses, Flanagan."

O the regular boys and the loud accountants
Left their nips and their seven-ounces
As chickens Fly when the buzzard pounces—
"Have you heard about old Flanagan?"

Cold in the parlour Flanagan lay
Like a bride at the end of her marriage day.
The Waterside Workers' Band will play
A brass goodbye to Flanagan.

While the publicans drink their profits still,
While lawyers flock to be in at the kill
While Aussie barmen milk the till
We will remember Flanagan.

For Barney had a send-off and no mistake.
He died like a man for his country's sake;
And the Governor-General came to his wake.
Drink again to Flanagan!

Despise not, O Lord, the work of Thine own hands
And let light perpetual shine upon him.