Tall Tales Tavern, it sits on the hill
Between the gardens of Robert and Bill
It's where the crowd goes for rest and relaxation
But, more importantly than that, beers and conversation
They'll all show up at half past eight
However, Zach and I are usually fashionably late

There's Paul, my dad, and my pop Gerard
And my uncle Robert from across the yard
Great uncle Cyril, once the postmaster
Who couldn't suck down the Pepsi any way faster
Then Steve Crane, an in-law of sorts
One for Philadelphia, when talking of sports
Bill Merrigan is there, with his cans of Bud Light
Who could tell the best stories when the timing is right
Mike Griffin shows, when he's not away for work
He lives on the south side, just up from Ken Burke
His brother Larry comes by when home from away
He'll never take that chair, and hasn't to this day
There's Bill Lawton, he's from the mainland
He always leaves early, cause he's a good husband
Uncle Mark shows up, when he's not in the woods
I've been in his cabin, he's packin' the goods
Old Harold Earle is here in the summer
A professor, certainly no carpenter or plumber
Don Emerson is there just to start a racket
He better be careful, or he'll jump from his jacket
Les Butt is there every once in a while
Everyday, you see, he walks two or three mile
Then Zach and I, the youngest of the bunch
When we're there, we make sure there's a munch

So here we are, the b'ys from Irishtown Road
Who have come together to get on the load
We drink to the memory of old crooked Peter
And his father James, who was off the crooked meter
The beers are cracked, and the fridge is full
Then they start talking, most of it's bull
But we also discuss all the local rumours
Might be sad or dark, but for sure it humours
There's always a mention of the weekly obits
We speak of their memories, we goes into fits
There's no trouble to tell when a story's a yarn
Could be knit on the spot, or halfway down from the barn
Some stories are true, no doubt about that
You could listen so long, Cyril's Pepsi goes flat
My favourites, of course, are the ones about fairies
From up in the woods while picking berries
Tales from their youth, of days spent in the grove
And many a time they had grandfadder drove
There might be a few about a scattered game of ball
Or how they used to entertain the family in late fall
Then we talk about cousins, and wonder where they are
Or ask about the condition and mileage on someone's car
There's always one about a day hunting moose
Or from their teenage years, out on the loose
Grandmudder usually sends down some food
When it's a bowl of toutons, shed's in a good mood
In winter the fire emits sweltering heat
But don't get up, you might lose your seat
In the corner the empties are piled up high
And the return on the bottles gives you more to buy

Its late, and one by one they call it quits
But once they stand up, the liquor sure hits
Robert will try and keep ya for one more round
So they'll sit back down and not make a sound
But pretty soon after the beer runs out
And it's guaranteed, without a doubt
Just a week away 'til we meet once more
And at Tall Tales Tavern there's an open door