Aye, 'th mugs were lifted heaven high
to roast an' toast Sean McGivins life;
one's birthday falls buh' once a year,
an' in Dublin it falls fr'm casks of beer.
th' nite blew fast as many the lass-
at th' stroke o' three th' tender asked:
who wants one final shot or chase,
'tis 3am...gotta' close this place.
So, fer all ya' bloomin' drunkards 'ere
drink up an' down yer' final beer.
An' by th' way, if ya' didn't know
in between ye'r upstairs dollie show;
Y'er get t'gether was 'o dead end road
'cuz Sean McGivins.. he never showed!
MMXVII
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem