| One evening while out strollin' a friend
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| I chanced to see
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| He was begging behind a bottle
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| On Spring and Bowery
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| He said, «I got some news for you
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| Only cost a couple of bob
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| About a buried treasure
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| Back home in Ballydehob
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| Well, I gave him all the bucks I had
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| And he took me by the hand
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| I know you love musicians
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| I’ve got news to beat the band
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| For back there in me native town
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| In the Allied Irish Bank
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| The long lost tapes of Hendrix
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| Are hidden in the vault
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| You can talk about your pyramids
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| And your pints of Guinness stout
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| But the long lost tapes of Hendrix
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| Will leave them in the dirt
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| So I stole me boss’s credit card
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| To the airport I did jog
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| Very soon thereafter
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| I arrived in Ballydehob
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| When I hit the Allied Irish me
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| Fatigue turned to desire
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| I beheld two hundred pounds
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| Of sweet Maggie McGuire
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| She cast her eyes upon me
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| «what are you doin' in me bank?»
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| I’m here on a secret mission, doll
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| Oh no, not another Yank
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| I hate the very sight of yez
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| Apart from your president
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| That man can stimulate me
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| Any way he wants
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| What are you doin' later?
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| Yera, I’m not up to much
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| Would you care for a pint of Guinness?
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| I never touch the stuff
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| But one pint led to two or three
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| Six to seven or eight
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| Until I was shakin' hands with meself
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| And that girl was feelin' no pain
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| She was startin' to look beautiful
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| Though there was three of her in sight
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| Six hundred pounds of lovin'
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| What do you have in mind?
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| Oh, sweet Maggie Magurie
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| There’s one thing I’d adore
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| To go down to the vault of your bank
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| And do it on the floor
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| No bother, a stór
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| That’s easily arranged
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| So we stole into the bank
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| And down the creaky stairs
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| Soon we were inside
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| The vault and dentin' the very floor
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| I could see the tapes of Hendrix
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| And they hidden behind the door
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| I never had such a night of love
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| She knew every trick in the book
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| Over, under, sideways
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| By the mornin' I was shook
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| When she finally keeled over
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| I gently moved her weight
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| With her snores wakin' the very dead
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| I headed for the tapes
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| Then all at once
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| A big white flash took me by surprise
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| An apparition in tie-dye
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| Arose before me eyes
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| A curly headed black man
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| Exploded in the light
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| T’was the ghost of Jimi Hendrix
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| And him playin' the Uilleann pipes
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| I woke up in the hospital
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| A weddin' ring on me hand
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| Two hundred pounds of Maggie McGuire
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| Smilin' to beat the band
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| Oh, you’re so romantic
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| No engagement did I need
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| Just one mad night of blisterin' sex
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| Brought me to my knees
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| So now I live in Ballydehob
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| Where the rain pours down all week
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| I’m nearly faded away from tendin'
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| To Maggie McGuire’s needs
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| The moral of this story is
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| Don’t ever find your dreams
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| And keep away from Hendrix
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| And his goddamn bloody tapes
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| You can talk about your pyramids
|
| And your pints of Guinness stout
|
| But the long lost tapes of Hendrix
|
| Will leave them in the dirt |