Living in POTTS with Irish roots

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Now sweetly lies old Ireland Emerald green beyond the foam, Awakening sweet memories, Calling the heart back home.

The race of men named the Gael, Is a race God surely made mad. For all of their wars are merry And all of their loves are sad.

A drink precedes a story.

May you have food and raiment, A soft pillow for your head, May you be forty years in heaven Before the devil knows you're dead.

May your heart be light and happy, may your smile be big and wide, and may your pockets always have a coin or two inside!

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[ Living in POTTS with Irish roots ].

The older the fiddle the sweeter the tune.

A trout in the pot is better than a salmon in the sea.

There's no need to fear the wind if your haystacks are tied down.

Food is a good workhorse.

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