Lemme tell you a little story about a man named Johnny Tarr.
He was a hard drinking son of a preacher, he was always at the bar.
Lager from the tap or shots of Paddy from the shelf.
He could open his throttle and throw back a bottle as quick as the devil himself.
Word got around that Johnny Tarr was no pretender.
From Clare to here they'd lock up the beer when Johnny went on a bender.
Down at Dickey Mack's, the Rising Sun, or at the Swan,
If he was drinking at seven by ten to eleven well all the booze would be gone!
Even if you saw it yourself, you wouldn't believe it.
And I wouldn't trust a person like me, if I were you.
I wasn't there. I swear I have an alibi.
I heard it from a man who knows a fellow who says it's true!
It was nine in the morning on a cold rainy night.
Johnny rolled into the Castle Bar, looking to get tight.
He had money in his pocket, he had whiskey in his eye.
He said, "Get up off your asses and set up the glasses. I'm drinking this place dry!"
Now all the serious boozers, they were soon broken hearted,
When Johnny finished off six and he was only getting started.
Guzzling down the pints, knockin' em back like candy.
He was lookin' alright to be drinkin' all night, then Nora brought out the Brandy!
Johnny drank the whole damn bottle, had another pint or two.
When it made no impression he started his session with Murphy's Millenium Brew.
He was waiting for his pint when his face turned green --
Jesus, Johnny fell down after only fifteen!
You could have heard a pin drop, then the crowd let out a ROAR!
It took five Cork women to lift Johnny off the floor!
The doctor looked him over and said, "you better call the hearse,
But it's not what you're thinkin'. It wasn't the drinkin'! This man died of thirst!!"