Sixteen Percent Irish

Sixteen Percent Irish – Douglas W. Fielder

A-E-D/E-D-A/Dm-A-E-A

She’s a good Irish lass, from Lleigh, Tipperary
Like most Irish girls, she’s a little bit wary
Of lads from the other side of the sea
Who like to drink beer with a girl on their knee.

She’s got eyes of blue, her name is Grace
And if you’re not careful she’ll put you in your place
Her father’s a tinker his name is Owen
Her mother’s named Sarah and she takes in sewing

But they’re both true Irish, don’t make a mistake
Cause Grace is their daughter and they just won’t take
it kindly if you are just playing around
Unless you have honor, you’d better leave town.

Now I’m not a man who takes all of this lightly
When I first met Grace I addressed her politely
She works in a pub serving brew to the boys
She’s wily and nimble and loves all the noise

McKinney’s is known for the best meal in town
But they come to see Grace she’s the best sight around
There’s hardly a seat any night of the week
The boy’s stand in line for a pint and a peek

Grace wears a top that show’s off her best feature
Has a face like an angel but most eyes never reach there.
She’s aware of where all of the men want to go
But she’s not a “meirdreach” and she lets them know

I happened to see her one day as she was going
Headed to home to help with the sewing
I asked for a date and she looked me up and down
And said that she’d only date boys from her town

I explained that my family had long ago lived here
That I had returned to claim some old land near
Passed down for centuries from man to man
That I was a descendant of Denis Moran

Her face brightened up as I told her my story
Denis had gone on a ship seeking glory
I had returned to see what the fact was
And that land was mine if I paid the back taxes

Just a sixteen percenter from American shores
My mother she told me “that land is yours”
Til one of us claims it, fallow it lays
But it stays in our family till the end of all days

She let out a laugh as I never have heard
It was clear, it was ringing, then she said “That’s Absurd”
That land has been sitting for 400 years
The amount of those taxes will bring you to tears.

Now I’m not a man who gets rattled easy
But part of me’s Irish and that part got quesy
Just thinking of how much I might have to pay
Just thinking of losing my Gracie that way

So I went to the town to see the RC
I showed him the papers that were given to me
He laughed as he read them, on the table where they laid
Then he said to me “Boy, your back taxes are paid”

Just a sixteen percenter from American shores
My mother she told me “that land is yours”
Til one of us claims it, fallow it lays
But it stays in our family till the end of all days

As it turns out I once had a great aunt
Whose husband had owned a big whiskey plant
She borrowed the money from the company till
She came to his office and she paid the bill

She made him promise to give that land away
To the first family member who wanted to stay
Stay and get married to an Irish lad or lass
Then he pulled out an envelope filled up with cash

“She left enough money to keep the land current
She said no matter who came that I should return it
There’s quite a bit left but one thing I must say
You must marry pure Irish in one single day”

Just a sixteen percenter from American shores
My mother she told me “that land is yours”
Til one of us claims it, fallow it lays
But it stays in our family till the end of all days

So I ran to the house where Grace and her mother
Were doing their sewing, talking to each other
I told them my story and got down on one knee
And I asked Grace Murphy if she’d marry me

Now Grace is no fool, she’s not born yesterday
She knew I was honest, and what could she say
She ran to the church to find Fr. McMahon
And Grace Murphy’s name is now Mrs. Moran

We built a small house with a porch for a swing
We had enough money to buy everything
She’s still pulling pints, and she drives them all wild
Cause in a couple of months she’ll be nursing a child

Just a sixteen percenter from American shores
My mother she told me “that land is yours”
Til one of us claims it, fallow it lays
But it stays in our family till the end of all days

Now I cannot tell you there’s a moral to this tale
You’d have to be Irish you’d have to drink Ale
You’d have to be thinking that something is wrong
For someone to be singing a bar song this long

But Grace is right over there pulling those brews
My great aunt, Eileen, let the Irish land choose
I’m light years away from the man who was sent here
My children will be more than sixteen percenters

They’ll run in these fields that grow Irish grains
They’ll drink Irish ale, til it runs in their veins
They’ll marry pure Irish they have my consent
And my great great grandchildren will be ninety percent!