Old Smokey

Posted on June 5, 2013

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*Inspired by my many visits to Kinsale in Ireland and the Spaniard pub where I did indeed see an old fisherman come in and cook fresh fish over a roaring fire one October night. My mouth watered as it cooked. Can’t remember if I tried a bit or not but probably did.


This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made

He smokes his food most of the time
smells of fish and bacon rind
Been smoking his food a long time now
A local legend in his harbour town

This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made

On a winter’s night he’ll be in the pub
over the fire he’ll cook his grub
People from miles around will come
to listen to his stories, join in the fun

This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made

He’ll bring out the fiddle and play a tune
maybe sing a song in the smoky room
Beaming faces red and full
listen to his stories however tall

This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made

As the night ends he staggers home
sometimes by the harbour he’ll sit alone
Thinking of all he’s done in life
the sea his companion his eternal wife

This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made

http://www.thespaniard.ie/
http://kinsale.ie/
http://www.discoverwestcork.com/
http://www.kinsaleapp.com/

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Posted in: Poetry