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| Pogues Waiting For Herb Haunting (Terry Woods) Sit down on that stool hear the cant of a fool And a strange tale I'll impart to ye Of a time that I lived at the buff of a hill 'Neath the burial chambers you see One Saturday night I got up on my bike To go to a dance in the town I set off at seven to be there at eleven No thought of the rain coming down As I pushed up the hill the rain started to spill So for shelter I had to resort Helter skelter I went as downhill I sped To the trees at the old fairy fort I pulled up my bike be a tree in the gripe To find shelter out of the storm The rain it came down and like stones beat the ground But it was grand to be dry in that storm I was dreaming away about better days When a voice it says dirty ould night I fell over me bike I got such a fright When the ghostly voice bid me the night I jumped up with a start gave the storm not a thought As the hail beat a rhythm on me And I stared at the tree that had spoken to me Not a body was there I could see The voice I had heard not another word said As the hair on the head stood on me ANd I said an "Our Father" as I peddled much faster Away from that ghost haunted tree For weeks and weeks after with nerves a disaster Nowhere near that road would I go And from dusk through the night I would shake with the fright Of the tree that had haunted me so Now whenever I go to a dance in the town I make sure not to stop on the way To be there for eleven I still leave at seven But I go by a different way ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ |
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