The Humours of Whiskey Marc Gunn

[Verse 1]
Let your quacks and newspapers be cuttin' their capers
And curing the vapors the scratch and the gout
With their medical potions, their pills and their lotions
Upholding their notions, they're mighty put out
Who can tell the true physics of all things pathetic
And pitch to the devil, cramp, colic, and spleen
You'll know it I think if you take a big drink
With your mouth to the brink of a jug of poteen

[Chorus]
So stick to the creature, the best thing in nature
For drowning your sorrows and raising your joys
Oh, what moderation gives hope to a nation
Can give consolation like poteen me boys

[Verse 2]
No liquid cosmetic to lovers athletic
Or ladies pathetic can give such a bloom
As the sweet by the powers in the garden of flowers
E'er gave their own bowers such a darling perfume
And this liquid so rare if you willingly share
To be taking your hair when it's frizzled and dead
Oh, the sod has the merit to yield the true spirit
So strong it will shake all the hairs from your head