The Demise Of Biddy McCree

Let me tell you a yarn

About Biddy McCree

A tough farming woman

From near Skibbereen.

She lived with her sister

They both never wed

Cos only a mother

Could love their two heads.

She would sow and she’d reap

And she’d toil in the mud

Till she was near 84

With a face like a spud,

But oul Biddy McCree

She had great aspirations!

A trip to Kinsale

Was our Bid’s dream vacation!

So she booked up two nights

In a wee B&B

(Free chocs on arrival

And view of the sea!).

The day she was leaving

Bags packed up to go

She last minute decided –

A pee for the road!

So there in the bathroom

She let out a sneeze

And our poor Biddy’s life

Just gave out at the knees.

She flew off the pot

Near six feet in the air

She went with such force

She hadn’t a prayer!

In just a half moment

Bid’s life had untangled

Head straight through the ceiling

Pants down round her her ankles.

Did she die from the shock?

Or the knock from the cistern?

One things for sure

She went off like a pistol!

So her sister, she found her

Case right at the door,

With her two feet just dangling

Through the front bedroom floor.

Not the woman to look

A gift horse in the mouth

Her sis took her place

For that trip down the South!

(She said it was lovely,

Her only complaint:

When it came to the portions

They had too much restraint.

Sure she loved her grub

And she ate like a hog

Till she finally keeled over

Her pipes were so clogged)

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Published by

An Irish Procrastinator

Penitent. Irish. Faffer.

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