Hard Cases - Christy Moore

You’re in the pub at half past ten, the money for the cure all spent again

Trying to figure out who’s carrying and where they’ll be that day

Forget about the night before when you were flying for an hour or more

And move across to the Central Bar hoping that you’ll see

One of them hard cases, soft faces, who grip you with their deadly smile

The grip it slowly tightens and the grin gets slowly deeper

And beads of perspiration stand out upon your cadgilation

Someone takes the pressure off and calls out more porter

Soon enough the tap runs dry and the afternoon goes slowly by

The Barman looks on warily as your mates come drifting in

Someone says there’s a session on, a tarnished bard has just hit town

Move across to the Widows;

see if you can rustle up the entrance fee from

A woman you know buys you your last and the evening goes flashing past

Bridie’s screaming as your eyeing the slops behind the bar

The party crowd is gathering, the banjo, fiddle and mandolin

The cider flagon hunt is on, if you haven’t got a tosser

Won’t you bring along a dozen of…