Lad, it's your duty to find ye a lass

With child-bearing hips and a pink, supple ass

And make her your wife and love her with love so true

Now some rivers run high, some rivers run low

When her river runs red, then she's starting her flow

And it's called menstr'ation, and here's what it means to you



You will notice her bloomers are spotty at first

Stand back – her ovarian dam's gonna burst

Son, don't be afraid, it's a natural t'ing

Just wad up some cotton and hand her some string

Put the old linens on top of the bed

Get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead



She'll retain her water, her breasts will be tender

And every third word that you say will offend her

Get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead

And she'll want to make love – if you do, you're a fool

'Cause you'll only end up with a bloody O'Toole

Get out of the house – down to the old pub instead



And she'll want you to sample the fruit of her loins

But son, it'll taste like some old rusty coins

So turn off the light, boy, and take off your hat

And drop to your knees, say a prayer to Saint Pat

Then he'll give you the strength to get out of the bed

And for Ireland's sake, go down to the old pub instead



Now the pub is the place where the lads are a-meetin'

When the moon's full and the gals are a-bleedin'

The Catholic, the Protestant, even the pagan

The pub is the place when your lady is raggin'

So drink of your pint, boys, and thank your shamrocks

That as menfolk we don't have to bleed from our cocks

And that we can escape from the lady in red

And get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead