Living in ROBLES with Irish roots

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What butter and whiskey will not cure there's no cure for.

Thirst is the end of drinking and sorrow is the end of drunkenness.

The day will come when the cow will have use for her tail.

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

May the Good Lord take a liking to you, ... but not too soon!

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[ Living in ROBLES with Irish roots ].

Even a small thorn causes festering.

May there always be work for your hands to do, May your purse always hold a coin or two. May the sun always shine warm on your windowpane, May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain. May the hand of a friend always be near you, And may God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

There is no need like the lack of a friend.

Your health one and all, from one wall to the other, And you outside there speak up, brother!

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