Down to the Old Pub Instead

Lad, it's your duty to find ye a lass
 With child-bearing hips and a pink, supple ass
 And make her your wife and love her with love so true
 Now some rivers run high, some rivers run low
 When her river runs red, then she's starting her flow
 And it's called menstr'ation, and here's what it means to you
 You will notice her bloomers are spotty at first
 Stand back – her ovarian dam's gonna burst
 Son, don't be afraid, it's a natural t'ing
 Just wad up some cotton and hand her some string
 Put the old linens on top of the bed
 Get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead
 She'll retain her water, her breasts will be tender
 And every third word that you say will offend her
 Get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead
 And she'll want to make love – if you do, you're a fool
 'Cause you'll only end up with a bloody O'Toole
 Get out of the house – down to the old pub instead
 And she'll want you to sample the fruit of her loins
 But son, it'll taste like some old rusty coins
 So turn off the light, boy, and take off your hat
 And drop to your knees, say a prayer to Saint Pat
 Then he'll give you the strength to get out of the bed
 And for Ireland's sake, go down to the old pub instead
 Now the pub is the place where the lads are a-meetin'
 When the moon's full and the gals are a-bleedin'
 The Catholic, the Protestant, even the pagan
 The pub is the place when your lady is raggin'
 So drink of your pint, boys, and thank your shamrocks
 That as menfolk we don't have to bleed from our cocks
 And that we can escape from the lady in red
 And get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead