Oh, Me Boy

I told you a few days ago about the contest a New York pub was holding to write less depressing lyrics to the tune of Danny Boy. The contest deadline passed yesterday, so while I sit here waiting for the call from New York announcing my win (what is taking them so long?) I thought you might like to read, or possibly sing my new versions. I entered two:

This Patrick’s Day, we’ve got enough depressing us
Our 401s are far from A-O-K
Financial worries constantly upsetting us
We don’t need another gloomy song today

So here’s to pints and baseball, girls and cheaper gas
To Foley’s Pub and winter’s blessed end
To Patrick’s Day and sitting in here on my ass
For just as long as I’ve got money left to spend.

But if you’d rather sing a song like “Danny Boy”
A song of graves and death and grief and tears
If that’s your thing, then sing your heart out and enjoy
Just do it someplace very far away from here.

So here’s to weekends, music, beer and better days
And here’s to us - I think this round’s on you
Here’s to New York, to Ireland and the USA
And Danny Boy, good bye and adios, adieu.

Like that? No? Okay, here was my other one:

Oh Foley’s Pub, I’m entering your song contest
I hope I win. I sure could use the dough.
I think you’ll find that unlike the old “Danny Boy”
My song is happy, cheery and it doesn’t blow.

Instead of graves, my song has frisky puppy dogs
Instead of prayers, my song’s a call for drinks
There isn’t snow or bagpipes wailing on the bogs
Oh Foley’s Pub, Oh Foley’s Pub, that old song stinks.

Oh Danny Boy, it’s really nothing personal
For after all, my name is Danny, too.
But when you’re sung, I get a pain abdominal
And then I count the notes and bars ‘til you are through.

So here’s my song, it’s full of cheer and happiness
The perfect song to sing on Patrick’s Day
It has none of that old song’s maudlin sappiness
And now it’s done, please send the prize money my way

You know, now that I reread those, I think It's safe to give up waiting for that phone call.