The Luck Of The Irish

The Luck Of The Irish

If you hear the banshee wailing
In the morning, hope you wake
In the days that are prevailing
One will die, of that, there’s no mistake

For, when she comes a’calling
Be sure that you’re asleep
Or it could be you who’s falling
When, into your soul, death will creep

So, if from outside, you hear a scream
Try to cover up your ears
And hope that it is all a dream
To block out all your fears

If it’s you that she calls out to
If it’s you that she does crave
Then, may your God go with you
When they put you in the grave.