I was looking at some old photographs Came across an old one With my Granddad sitting on a horse and cart I remember stories wild so wild they would always last It was said he was a bruiser Drinking barley from the glass
He was a hardy fighting drinking man Working every bone till it broke No Dublin man could ever shake his hand Breaking all the glass in the window pane He could feel no more Behind that rugged mask this Man He loved the windy sand and shore Tis time to take him home
Regrets he had a few if none Working in the mines driving trucks through the dirt On the cliffs no man could stand Torchy Doyle was the name They gave this long and lanky Irish Man He was feared yet loved by most Only one could understand
His nose he broke so many times All the fights and the battles in the fields In the bed he was so kind Buy a jar at the end they smile in case he change his mind Torchy Doyle you are the man Only one could understand