Hannagan and Flannagan

Were the very best of friends,
They'd been like that since childhood,
And continued on as men.
They couldn't be more Irish,
Both so proud of their Emerald Isle,
No finer sod found anywhere,
They agreed, and they bragged and smiled.
They wed lovely Irish lassies,
And built neighboring homes in the glen,
And for fifty - sixty - years, or more,
They were happy Irishmen.

They loved to indulge at the local pub,
Where nightly they swigged gin and ale,
As they tried to outdo one another,
With their drinks and their wild Irish tales.
Their's was a test of one-upmanship,
As their stories grew wilder with time,
Egged on by their cohorts and buddies,
Their tales were outlandish sometimes.
If Hannagan said a small lad was small,
Flannagan said he was smaller,
But if Flannagan said a tall man was tall,
Then Hannagan said he was taller.

And so it went - night after night,
It seemed neither man could win,
Every night they kept at it and at it,
Again and again and again.
But one night it came down to this:
Which was the better man?
They grinned and rolled up their sleeves,
And the fight of the night began.
A bloody nose here, and a black eye there,
And a rip in the seat of one's pants,
The audience cheered at a view of the rear,
Of Hannagan's vast expanse.

Hannagan stopped and dropped his hands,
To hide his indecent exposure,
Though he was tough, he still was shy,
And he wanted immediate closure.
The fight now was done, and nobody won,
But what a good time they all had,
Hannagan and Flannagan headed on home,
Neither man feeling too bad.
With bloodied noses and blackened eyes,
It was hard to tell who was who,
But with the seat of his pants wide open,
Hannagan was the worst of the two.

Flannagan laughed at Hannagan's plight,
Who in turn whined, "Me butt is so cold."
"Me friend, cheer up," said Flannagan then,
It's too big to freeze off, you know."
So the two old friends both chortled,
And went on their merry way,
"I wonder, me friend," queried Hannagan,
"What me dear little wifey would say."
"Well, with your ice-blue behind,
Your black eyes, and red nose,
She'd think you're a rainbow,
Me friend, I suppose."

Both men exploded with laughter,
Cried Hannagan, "A rainbow! How droll!"
While the hole in his pants clearly revealed,
His dear, little pots o'gold.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright March 2003




The midi file playing is courtesy of A P Brogan Irish Music.