Nolan – Original Irish

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Here's to eyes in your heads and none in your spuds.

Merry met, and merry part, I drink to thee with all my heart.

May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face. And rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

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.

There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.

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[ Nolan – Original Irish ].

The older the fiddle the sweeter the tune.

If you lie down with dogs you'll rise with fleas.

Food is a good workhorse.

To live above with the Saints we love, Ah, that is the purest glory. To live below with the Saints we know, Ah, that is another story.

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