The High King of Tara
[One Fintan O’Meara]
Did walk down to Laragh
One bright summer’s day.
But halfway to Laragh,
This Fintan O’Meara
[The High King of Tara]
Did stumble and sway.
“This sun, it is baking.
Me feet, they are aching.
These sandals are making
Me feet feel the heat.
Have none of ye Fianna
In all ye’re lives seen a
More blistered, obscener
Pair of oul’ feet?”
Then one of the party,
Named Conor McCarthy,
A lad hale and hearty,
Spoke out in loud tones: -
“Oh, Fintan O’Meara,
Great High King of Tara,
This road down to Laragh
Is littered with stones.
I can’t get a handle
On your choice of sandal.
It’s really a scandal
Your footwear’s so old.
It’s plain that your soles, sire,
Are riddled with holes, sire,
Put your feet in these bowls, sire,
Of water so cold.”
So Fintan O’Meara,
[The High King of Tara]
While halfway to Laragh
Did bathe his feet well.
Then spoke the bould Conor,
“Excuse me, your honour,
Me mate, Denis Bonner
Has something to tell.”
So Fintan O’Meara
[The High King of Tara]
While halfway to Laragh,
Bade Denis to speak.
“Your shoes are quite frayed, sire,
I’m a cobbler by trade, sire,
These boots I have made, sire,
Are really unique.
They’re made out of leather,
They look well together,
They’re great in hot weather
[The heels have a lift.]
They won’t fall asunder
In sun, hail or thunder,
They’re really a wonder –
They’re yours as a gift.”
The King took the present
From that skilful peasant
And, in a voice pleasant,
Said, “Boy, these are beauts!
These boots you’ve presented
Cannot be augmented.
D’ye know ye’ve invented
The first High King boots?”
[One Fintan O’Meara]
Did walk down to Laragh
One bright summer’s day.
But halfway to Laragh,
This Fintan O’Meara
[The High King of Tara]
Did stumble and sway.
“This sun, it is baking.
Me feet, they are aching.
These sandals are making
Me feet feel the heat.
Have none of ye Fianna
In all ye’re lives seen a
More blistered, obscener
Pair of oul’ feet?”
Then one of the party,
Named Conor McCarthy,
A lad hale and hearty,
Spoke out in loud tones: -
“Oh, Fintan O’Meara,
Great High King of Tara,
This road down to Laragh
Is littered with stones.
I can’t get a handle
On your choice of sandal.
It’s really a scandal
Your footwear’s so old.
It’s plain that your soles, sire,
Are riddled with holes, sire,
Put your feet in these bowls, sire,
Of water so cold.”
So Fintan O’Meara,
[The High King of Tara]
While halfway to Laragh
Did bathe his feet well.
Then spoke the bould Conor,
“Excuse me, your honour,
Me mate, Denis Bonner
Has something to tell.”
So Fintan O’Meara
[The High King of Tara]
While halfway to Laragh,
Bade Denis to speak.
“Your shoes are quite frayed, sire,
I’m a cobbler by trade, sire,
These boots I have made, sire,
Are really unique.
They’re made out of leather,
They look well together,
They’re great in hot weather
[The heels have a lift.]
They won’t fall asunder
In sun, hail or thunder,
They’re really a wonder –
They’re yours as a gift.”
The King took the present
From that skilful peasant
And, in a voice pleasant,
Said, “Boy, these are beauts!
These boots you’ve presented
Cannot be augmented.
D’ye know ye’ve invented
The first High King boots?”
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