St. Patrick's

'Twas the night before St. Patrick's

And all through the cell

The only thing heard

was you yelling hell.

The laundry was hung

By the ladder with care

In hopes that soon dry

They'd be ready to wear.

You couldn't sit still—

Jumping up, sitting down,

Dancing and prancing

And singing a noun.

Then the door opened

And run, yes you did

To go meet your baby

For you're practically a kid.