The Winning Dream.

Lyrics: Irish songwriter Christina Keane.
Vocals: Co Kilkenny singer, drummer and publican Seamus Moore, (“Moore The Hurr”).

They say money can’t buy happiness, but sure, wouldn’t it be lovely to have enough of it to find out! I suppose we’ve all dreamed of winning the lottery, throwing away the bills, buying a new car, and never having another worry in the world.
Well, this next song tells the story of an old Irish countryman whose luck takes a wonderful turn, and suddenly all his dreams come true. But as we all know, there’s a big difference between dreaming of a fortune and waking up with one! Enough said.

The Winning Dream.

The Winning Dream.

It was early Friday mornin’ I was cycling into town.
The front wheel it was wobbling and the mud guard fallin’ down.
The two legs of me trousers were tied up with bits of twine,
And the pension book was telling me a pint would soon be mine.
“How are ye Mr. Murphy” said the postal clerk to me.
“Not too bad “, says I, “for a man of seventy three”.
A fox came to me house last night and stole me only duck.
“Buy a lottery ticket” she says, “it might change your luck”.
I took the little girls advice and I handed her a pound.
Outside I scratched the ticket with a pen knife I had found.
Well I nearly dropped me trousers and grew a head of hair,
When I realised I was a bloody millionaire.
No more hay or turf to save, no more feeding calves.
One kick from me big boot and the bike was in two halves.
I headed for the local, sure I was feeling great,
And friends I never knew before came in to celebrate.
Not long after that I had a new suit on me back,
A new red car outside the door and a telephone on the rack.
The wife was sporting a blond wig, where her grey head used to be,
And the wellington tracks had disappeared from just below her knee.
I sat down admiring the new dress that she wore,
A brand new set of teeth she got installed the day before.
Well I held her oh so tightly, like when I was a groom,
And we looked rich and graceful as we waltzed around the room.
T’was then I got an awful shock I thought I’d nearly die,
I spied me ugly misses as I opened up one eye.
With curlers in her old grey head she nearly made me sick,
“Get up and milk the cows”, she says, “you ravin’ lunatic”.
T’was then I realised that it was all a dream.
The cows were mooing in the field and the cat was at the cream.
Me bike was thrown in the hedge and me trousers had a shine,
T’was lovely while it lasted, that winning dream of mine.
T’was lovely while it lasted, that winning dream of mine.