Leprechaun Song

One Saint Paddy’s afternoon, a midget came to me.
He was often seen in shades of green, a smoke of Burley tree.
He stuffed his pipe with rough tobacco, struck a match and lit.
Proposed to me, some wishes three, mischievous little git.

I picked my first; a thousand coins did fall upon my lap.
I chose the next; the fairer sex did fill the room on tap.
He asked; ‘What will the last wish be?’ The cheeky Fenian monk.
‘Thirteen pints of ale!’ said I. I’m afraid I was very drunk.