Just found this archived of mine on IrishEnvy from December 2005. There was a link to an mp3 version but it doesn't work.
A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How those Irish used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had a train
Then I could ease The Irish Pain
And, maybe, we’d be happy for a while.
Each November made me shiver,
As Irish losses hurt my liver.
Bad news on my doorstep;
Not another coaching misstep.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about Charlie’s Irish Pride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the losing died.
So bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Did you write the playbook of love,
And do you have faith in plays thereof,
If the Script tells you so?
Do you believe in the pump and go,
Can play action save your mortal soul,
And can you teach Brady how to throw?
Well, I know that we’re in love with him
`cause we all did cheer him in the gym.
I can now throw out my booze.
’Cuz no more shall we lose.
I was a lonely 300 pound buck
With a case of Nyquil and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was back in luck
The day the losing died.
We were singing
“bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.”
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Now for eight years we’ve been on our own
While losses grew fat we could only groan,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When Lou Holtz played before the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from Frank Leahy
With cheers that came from you and me,
Oh, and while the king was looking down,
Lou Holtz stole his AP crown.
The Bowl Alliance was adjourned;
No trophy was returned.
Molly Lennon read a book on trademarks,
The Irish practiced in the park,
And we cheered them til after dark
The day the losing died.
We were singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Helter skelter in a summer-like swelter.
Golden Eagles flew off to a fallout shelter,
Last in the ACC and falling fast.
Where once they tried to steal our grass.
Now Our Lads would steal their forward pass,
And leave those Jebbies moaning, in a cast.
Now it’s halftime up in Stanford’s tomb
While the Stanford band played an offensive tune.
We went to whoop them like France,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause Irish players tried to take the field;
The Stanford band refused to yield.
So the players stomped them and thus revealed
The day the losing died.
We started singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Oh, and there we were all in one place,
The coliseum and a loss of face
With no time left to start again.
So come on: jack was nimble, jack was quick!
Fr. Jack took out his firing stick
Cause change is sometimes our only friend.
Oh, and as I watched Monk on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break residentiality’s spell.
As the ND jet climbed into the night
To be Urban’s sacrificial rite,
I wondered if it would come to my sight
A day the losing died
We were singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
I met Missy Conboy who hates to lose,
And I asked her for some happy news,
She smiled and said “Charlie signed today.”
I flipped on to ESPN for more,
Where I’d watched the Irish years before,
But the man there said the Irish couldn’t play.
And in the streets: the Trojans screamed,
Llloyd Carr cried, and the Domers dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the NDCHOOCHOO and drank a toast
The day the losing died.
And they were singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
They were singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."<!-- google_ad_section_end -->
A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How those Irish used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had a train
Then I could ease The Irish Pain
And, maybe, we’d be happy for a while.
Each November made me shiver,
As Irish losses hurt my liver.
Bad news on my doorstep;
Not another coaching misstep.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about Charlie’s Irish Pride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the losing died.
So bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Did you write the playbook of love,
And do you have faith in plays thereof,
If the Script tells you so?
Do you believe in the pump and go,
Can play action save your mortal soul,
And can you teach Brady how to throw?
Well, I know that we’re in love with him
`cause we all did cheer him in the gym.
I can now throw out my booze.
’Cuz no more shall we lose.
I was a lonely 300 pound buck
With a case of Nyquil and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was back in luck
The day the losing died.
We were singing
“bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.”
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Now for eight years we’ve been on our own
While losses grew fat we could only groan,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When Lou Holtz played before the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from Frank Leahy
With cheers that came from you and me,
Oh, and while the king was looking down,
Lou Holtz stole his AP crown.
The Bowl Alliance was adjourned;
No trophy was returned.
Molly Lennon read a book on trademarks,
The Irish practiced in the park,
And we cheered them til after dark
The day the losing died.
We were singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Helter skelter in a summer-like swelter.
Golden Eagles flew off to a fallout shelter,
Last in the ACC and falling fast.
Where once they tried to steal our grass.
Now Our Lads would steal their forward pass,
And leave those Jebbies moaning, in a cast.
Now it’s halftime up in Stanford’s tomb
While the Stanford band played an offensive tune.
We went to whoop them like France,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause Irish players tried to take the field;
The Stanford band refused to yield.
So the players stomped them and thus revealed
The day the losing died.
We started singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Oh, and there we were all in one place,
The coliseum and a loss of face
With no time left to start again.
So come on: jack was nimble, jack was quick!
Fr. Jack took out his firing stick
Cause change is sometimes our only friend.
Oh, and as I watched Monk on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break residentiality’s spell.
As the ND jet climbed into the night
To be Urban’s sacrificial rite,
I wondered if it would come to my sight
A day the losing died
We were singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
I met Missy Conboy who hates to lose,
And I asked her for some happy news,
She smiled and said “Charlie signed today.”
I flipped on to ESPN for more,
Where I’d watched the Irish years before,
But the man there said the Irish couldn’t play.
And in the streets: the Trojans screamed,
Llloyd Carr cried, and the Domers dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the NDCHOOCHOO and drank a toast
The day the losing died.
And they were singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
They were singing,
bye-bye, Misters Davie and Ty.
Drove my Hummer to the Backer,
But the Backer was dry.
Them Bowden boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."<!-- google_ad_section_end -->
