We all piled out of the pub Pissed as a load of newts; 'Where to now boys?' Bellowed naughty Niall O'Neill (that's notorious nineteen pints a night Niall) As he tottered over to his Pa's Rolls Royce. 'Do ye think ye should be driving With that record-breakin' skinful I just seen you put away?' Enquired serious Sean slurringly From his slightly inconvenient Viewpoint in the beery gutter. So we all clambered gaily into the car And roared off into the enchanted night And then this bloody stupid clodhopper Who didn't even have his driving licence yet Came round the next corner in his Ford And got sent to Kingdom-sodding-Come. 'Oh shit, would ye just look at the mess The oul' fella's made of me Daddy's car, And it's his pride and joy so it is!' Cried Niall O'Neill in incandescent rage, As he surveyed the largest insurance claim In the County Wicklow for twenty years. How fortunate Father Tucker and Garda Sergeant O'Toole Could both testify from their vantage point In the front seat of the devastated Roller, The accident was not Niall's fault at all, at all, As the other stupid sober bugger was on The wrong side of the goddam street.