An Irishman was drinking at the pub all night. The bartender came up to him and told him that the bar was closing. So the Irishman stood up to leave and fell flat on his face. He tried to stand up one more time with the same result. So he figured he'd just crawl outside, hang out for a while, get some fresh air and hopefully that would sober him up.
Once outside he stood up and fell again - right on his face. He decided to crawl the four blocks to his home and when he arrived at the door he tried one more time with the same results. Exhausted, he then gave up and started crawling to the bedroom.
When he reached his bed he tried one more time to stand up. This time he managed to pull himself upright but he quickly fell right into the bed and fell sound asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
The next morning, he woke up with his wife standing over him shouting at him, "'So, you've been out drinking again!!"
'What makes you say that?' he asked as he put on an innocent look.
"The pub called, you left your flaming wheelchair there!"

My Wild Irish Rose
Written by Chauncey Olcott, 1899

If you'll listen, I'll sing you a sweet little song,
Of a flower that's now drooped and dead,
Yet dearer to me, yes, than all of its mates,
Tho' each holds aloft its proud head.
'Twas given to me by a girl that I know,
Since we've met, faith, I've known no repose,
She is dearer by far than the world's brightest star,
And I call her my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose,
The sweetest flow'r that grows,
You may search ev'rywhere,
But none can compare
With my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose,
The dearest flow'r that grows,
And some day for my sake,
She may let me take
The bloom from my wild Irish Rose.

They may sing of their roses which, by other names,
Would smell just as sweetly, they say,
But I know that my Rose would never consent
To have that sweet name taken away.
Her glances are shy when e'er I pass by
The bower, where my true love grows;
And my one wish has been that some day I may win
The heart of my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose,
The sweetest flow'r that grows,
You may search ev'rywhere,
But none can compare
With my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose,
The dearest flow'r that grows,
And some day for my sake,
She may let me take
The bloom from my wild Irish Rose.

~~~~~

I caught a little leprechaun,
quite wise and very old and he said to me,
"You have one wish,
would you like my pot of gold?"

"No thank you," was my quick reply,
"But how about another...
A gift that's truly precious
and esteemed above all others?"

He offered then some emeralds,
rubies, sapphires, pearls
and a host of other treasures
that would make your senses whirl!

As I rejected all his list
his bright eyes flashed with fire
and, angrily, he said to me:
"What is it you desire?"

I said:

"A rainbow's far more beautiful
than its' supposed treasure
and the 'rainbow' that I'm wishing for
is priceless beyond measure.

"I'd like to have the dearest friends
a person ever had
to share in all the good times
and help me through the bad...

"To laugh and sing and joke with,
love and appreciate
as we live life's greatest adventure
that would certainly be great!"

"Oh, now I know you're daft!" he said
as he ran off with his pot...
"to waste your wish on something
you have already got!"