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Stick to the Crathur

“Stick to the Crathur,” Albums: The Green Fields of America Live—Recorded Live at International house of Philadelphia on June 21, 1988, and Humorous Songs Live—Recorded at the Old Vienna Kaffeehaus, 1998. Click "more" for lyrics and details. Please click on Subscribe and Notifications to know when the next song is posted. And while you're here, give us a "Thumbs Up" so others will be more likely to find us -- it's an "algorithm" thing. PRODUCTION INFORMATION: Vocals: Robbie O'Connell, Mick Moloney, Jimmy Keane: Producer: Mick Moloney Engineers: Ted Estersohn, Jay Hattler & Glenn Barratt Mixing and Mastering at Morningstar Communications in Springhouse, PA Editing: Don Visher Liner Notes: Joe Wilson & Mick Moloney Front Cover Photograph, "Dancing in Steerage," — courtesy of the Museum of the City of New York, from the Byron Collection Photograph of The Green Fields of America: John Abrahms Design: Carla Frey Lyrics: STICK TO THE CRATHUR ©1989 The Green Fields of America, ©1998 Robbie O’Connell Let your quacks and newspapers be cuttin' their capers About curing the vapors the scratch and the gout, With their medical potions, their serums and lotions Ochone in their notions, they're mighty put out. Who can tell the true physic of all that’s pathetic, And pitch to the devil, cramp, colic and spleen. You'll know it I think if you take a big drink With your mouth to the brink of a jug of poteen. So stick to the crathur, the best thing in nature For sinkin’ your sorrows and raising your joys. Oh what botheration no dose in the a nation Can give consolation like poteen me boys. As a child in the cradle, me nurse with her ladle Was fillin’ her mouth with a notion of pap. When a drop from her bottle fell into my throttle. I capered and scrambled right out of her lap. On the floor I lay crawlin' and screamin’ and bawling 'Til me father and mother were called to the fore. All sobbin’ and sighin’ they feared I was dying. But soon found I only was crying for more. So stick to the crathur the best thing in nature For sinkin’ your sorrows and raising your joys. Oh lord how they’d chuckle if babes in their truckle Could only be suckled on poteen, me boys. Through my youthful aggression, in times of depression, My childhood's impression still clung to my mind. And at school or at college, the basis of knowledge I never could gulp 'til with whiskey combined. And as older I'm growing times ever bestowin' On Erin's potation, a flavor so fine. And how ere they may lecture on Jove and his nectar Itself is the only true liquid divine. So stick to the crathur, the best thing in nature For sinkin’ your sorrows and raising your joys. Oh lord, 'tis the right thing for courting and fighting There's naught so exciting as poteen me boys. Come guess me this riddle: what beats pipes and fiddle? What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream? What best wets your whistle? What's clearer than crystal? What's sweeter than honey and stronger than steam? What will make the lame walk? What will make the dumb talk? The elixir of life and philosopher's stone. And what helped Mr. Brunel to dig the Thames Tunnel? Sure wasn’t it poteen from ould Inishowen? So stick to the crathur the best thing in nature For sinkin’ your sorrows and raising your joys. Oh lord, ‘tis no wonder, if lightning and thunder Was made from the plunder of poteen me boys. Now, ye maidens pathetic with lovers athletic For liquid cosmetic, you can’t beat the drop. With a glow to your cheek, it’ll make your heart leap It would quieten a stallion or cure an ould cob From the mouth you would drool, be reduced to a fool You’d kick up your heels and you’d peel to the buff. And ’tis you’d be athletic while he’d be pathetic If only you’d take a few drops of the stuff. So stick to the crathur, the best thing in nature For sinkin’ your sorrows and raising your joys. For there’s nothin’ like whiskey to make maidens frisky It soon separates all the men from the boys.