Luckin' for a woman - Padhraig McGinn

I’m lukin’ for a wumman, for I’m getting’ middlin’ ould,

And me hair is goin’ patchy an’ me blood is getting cowld.

I’ve put it off for ages but I’ve had it in me head,

For they say there’s nuttin like a doll t’ warm up yer bed.

 

Me mammy’s past a hundred and she can’t keep goin’ much more,

And when she’s gone who’ll wash an’ iron, an’ cook, an’ sweep the floor,

An’ milk the cow an’ feed the hins an’ make soup from a bone,

And help me save the hay and turf? Sure I can’t do all me lone!

 

There were loads of girls when I was young, dyed blonde, brunette and red,

But me mammy said t' take me time and stick by her instead.

"There'll be girls galore when I am gone; sure girls is two a' penny,

And a man with twelve acres like you can have his pick of any."

 

Well I walked out Biddy Flanagan for twenty years or more.

Then she said, "I think it's time we wed."  She was touchin' forty-four.

When I said I'd talk to mammy first, and axe her if she'd mind,

Maggie kicked me in the gooliegoes and then up me behind.

 

When I tauld her mammy said t’ wait, Biddy turned on me, for sure.

Sayin', "Go and sleep with yer mammy, yeh mangy, yella hewer.

May her snots hang down like sausages and her rashers taste like snots,

And may yeh end yer days tryin' her t' plaize and emptyin' her chamber pots."

 

"May yeh never hev no sons, and may yeh father only farts.

May yeh never hev no daughters.  If yeh hev may they be tarts.

May yeh swell with constipation and then skitter like ten cows,

And may yer prostate leak seven nights a week till yer bed smells like a sow’s."

 

Next I went for Maggie Bullock; she had acres by the score,

But her face was brown an' wrinkled, like a woodworm-ravaged door,

She’d a chin yeh cud chop sticks with, and thighs like Guinness kegs,

An' big, blue veins like anchor chains goin’ up an’ down her legs.

 

She had warts as big as chestnuts and bristles on her chin,

And a face like a bulldog chewin a wasp or a plate of mortal sin.

If I saw that face beside me in the bed some awful night,

I’d never see the mornin’.  I’d hev heart failure from fright.

 

I’d hev overluk’d these drawbacks, for her bank account was full,

But she had one fierce sex-stopper, an arse like a Charolais bull.

Me ma said, “Never mind her looks; just do it in the dark.”

But ‘twud be like fondlin’ a chimpanzee an’ kissin’ a tiger shark.

 

So I turned to Widda Sweeney.  She was quite a handsome dame,

When I heard she’d buried four husbands I was no longer game.

So I tauld her I was delicate and not made for endurance.

“Ach”, says she, “don’t let that worry yeh; We’ll take out big life insurance.”

 

Last month I tried a matchmaker. He said he'd get me a flier.

I thought he meant an airhostess, not a sex kitten on fire.

I axed her could she cook and she said, “I’m just good in bed”,

So I said I'd try a blanket from the ESB instead.

 

So here I am near eighty an' it's time I made a move.

I've a dacent house with a bedroom, an’ a kitchen with a stove.

I've naether tap nor toilet; I just squat behind the rocks,

An' if long grass is scarce at times, there's loads o' big, green docks.

 

Now I don’t want wan with lipstick, false eyelashes and mascara,

And manicures and hair-dos, sure the cost of them’s a tarra.

Non-smoking teetot’ler preferred, like yeh read of in Ireland’s Own,

Not wan for goin’ out t’ pubs, content t’ knit at home.

 

And I don’t want wan that dyes her hair or paints her toenails red,

And I'd rather that she wudn’t snore or break wind in the bed.

I don't mind one that stutters but I couldn't stand false teeth,

For I’d hate t' hear them go “clack, clack” when she’s chawin’ lumps o' meat.

 

I want a girl that's natural, not a bloody, painted doll.

With black lead all around her eyes and boobs like a football.

I don't want one that’s waxin', for I’m fond of hairy shanks,

But beards under her oxters, like a billygoat?  No thanks!

 

I’m lukin’ for a woman, someone young and strong and healthy,

Not one with airs and graces, but I don't mind if she’s wealthy,

I may be burnin’ oil but I hev plans for when I’m wed,

And, with God's help and some chemist’s pills, I’ll shake the bloody bed.