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Well, this isn't an Irish drinking song, but it's still my FAVORITE drinking song, and I'll post it in honor of St. Patrick's Day!

"Hey! Ho! To the bottle I go!
To heal my heart and drown my woe!
The rain may fall the wind may blow
but there still beeeeeeeeeeee many miles to go!

Sweet is the sound of the falling rain,
and the stream that falls from hill to plain!
Better than rain or rippling brook,
is a mug of beer inside this Took!"

JOHNNY MCELDOO

There was Johnny McEldoo and McGee and me
And a couple of two or three went on the spree one day
We had a bob or two, which we knew how to blew
And the beer and whiskey flew and we all felt gay
We visited McCann's, Maclaman's, Humpty Dan's
We then went into Swan's, our stomachs for to pack
We ordered out a feed, which indeed, we did need
And we finished it with speed, but we still felt slack

Johnny McEldoo turned red, white and blue
As a plate of irish stew he soon put out of sight
He shouted out "Encore!" with a roar for some more
That he'd never felt before such a keen appetite
We ordered eggs and ham, bread and jam, what a cram
But him, we couldn't ram, though we tried our level best
For everthing we brought, cold or hot, mattered not
It went down him like a shot and he still stood the test

He swallowed tripe and lard by the yard, we got scarred
We thought it would go hard when the waiter brought the bill
We told him to give o'er, but he swore he could lower
Twice as much again and more before he had his fill
He nearly supped a trough full of broth says McGragh
"He'll devour the tablecloth if you don't hold him in"
When the waiter brought the charge, McEldoo felt so large
He began to shout and barge and his blood went on fire

He began to curse and swear, tear his hair in despair
To finish the affair, called the shop man a liar
The shop man, he through out and no doubt, he did clout
McEldoo he kicked about like an old football
Tattered all his clothes, broke his nose, I suppose
He would have killed him with a few blows in no time at all
Mceldoo began to howl and to growl, by my soul
Through an empty bowl at the shop keepers head
It struck poor Mickey Flynn, took the skin from his chin
An eruction did begin and we all fought and bled
The peelers did arrive, man alive, four or five
At us they made a dive for us all to march away
We paid for all the mate that we ate, stood a trait
And went home to ruminate on the spree that day