Away with tears and sordid fears, no trouble will we borrow, but shed
our woes like winter clothes--it's Patrick's day tomorrow. With clubs
and rakes we'll chase the snakes, and send the toads a-flying, and
we'll be seen with ribbons green, all other hues decrying. In
grass-green duds we'll plant the spuds, where they can do no growing;
with flat and sharp we'll play the harp, and keep the music going.
Then let us yell, for all is well, the world's devoid of sorrow; the
toads are snared, the snakes are scared, it's Patrick's day tomorrow.