A Good Irish Fight

...

A Good Irish Fight

The bottom fell out the other night.
Names did not matter; men ready to fight.
None would take that unworthy plight
To let anything happen without a good Irish fight.

The scowl in their eyes, and grit of their teeth,
Made the wisest of Sayers take off fast in fleet.
They'd run escaping the rage of the night.
When the Micks got angry, none better could fight.

You wouldn't believe what was seen on that night.
Left hooks were thrown, the Micks danced with delight.
They knew they could fight with the best of them all;
Every man there, till the final last call.

Bloody nose, and black eye, badge of honour that night.
They joke, and laugh hard, about that good Irish fight.
There were no better fighters from here to Dundee.
No doubt in their mind's they'd never run, hide, or flee.

How could a good Irish man be proud of himself,
If he'd not fight with his heart; be brave with no stealth?
Without first being a man, and stand ready to fight,
The Micks stood proud on that very same night.