Ukeadoodle

McIlhatton  - Christy Moore

Intro:  [G] [A] [G] [A]

G                        A                 G                 A
In Glenravel’s Glen there lives a man whom some would call a god
             G                      A                          G               D                   
For he could cure your shakes with a bottle of his stuff would cost you thirty bob
     G               A                 G                     A
Come winter, summer, frost all over, a jiggin’ Spring on the breeze
       D               G              D                  A
In the dead of night a man steps by, “McIlhatton, if you please”

|[CHORUS]
|
|D                       C               G               D
|McIlhatton you blurt we need you, cry a million shaking men
|D                       G                 D             C
|Where are your sacks of barley, will your likes be seen again?
|D                            G                      D                    G
|Heres a jig to the man and a reel to the drop and a swing to the girl he loves
|         D               A                G          A
|May your fiddle play and poitín cure your company up above

G                    A                         G                A
Theres a wisp of smoke to the south of the Glen and the poitín is on the air
    G                            A                              G               D 
The birds in the burrows and the rabbits in the sky and there’s drunkards every-where
   G                 A                 G                    A
At Skerries Rock the fox is out and be-god he’s chasing the hounds
        D             G               D                  A
And the only thing in decent shape is buried beneath the ground

CHORUS

G                         A                   G              A
At McIlhatton’s house the fairies are out and dancing on the hobs
    G                        A                            G               D 
The goat’s collapsed and the dog has run away and there’s salmon down the bogs
   G             A                       G                  A
He has a million gallons of wash and the peelers are on the Glen
            D                G                D               A
But they’ll never catch that hackler cos he’s not comin’ home again

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