Connolly is me Irish friend,
He’s as Irish as can be.
“What happened to your O,” I asked,
The O’ in O’Connolly?
‘Tis a long and painful story mate,
So order us a jar or two,
And we’ll sit here by the fireside,
And I’ll tell the tale to you.”
O’Leary was a bloody bully,
Barmen trembled at his sight.
He was strong as a bull and dumb as an ox,
And he loved to drink and fight.
When I walked into O’Dwyer’s pub,
Where I’m known as gentle man,
But when O’Leary remarked
about me mum,
The manure hit the fan.
I went after him, in a fit of rage,
And he began to kick and bite,
He stuck his finger in me eye,
And tried to ruin me sight.
He hit me low with a vicious blow,
Which dropped me to the floor.
He pounded his chest and roared,
“I’m the best,”
Till I thought I could take it no more.
On the floor I laid and to the Lord I prayed,
As O’Leary strutted in glee.
Lord, I’ll give you the O’ from
the name I love so,
If You bring O’Leary a bit closer to me.
The Lord answered me prayer as O’Leary stood there,
Straddling me in victory.
But when my boot struck his pose,
where he was most exposed,
The Lord gave the victory to me.
That awful night was O’Leary’s last fight,
For he still feels the agony and pain,
As for the promise I made,
to the Lord I gave,
The O’ from O’Connolly…me name.
So when you hear people say,
O’Lord as they pray,
You know He got the O’ from me.
And I don’t mind, if I’m missing mine,
For now ’tis Irish the O’Lord will be.
From that night on, in story and song,
“The Boot,” is pure Irish lore.
So if in a fight you get…just boot him there quick,
And he’ll speak an octave higher or more.
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