When I Told Them

When i told them of the Claramore Rill
Whose silver tongue is never still
They looked at me in a strange way
Saying what are you on about anyway

When i told them of Miracles at Tubrid Well
They said such tall stories you do tell
You must believe your own lies indeed
Or else you are one who does smoke wizzy weed

When i told them of the Paps of Shrone
And Gortavehy with the face of stone
They said to me do you realize
That we do know you tell a few lies

When i told them of  The Allow  in flood waters of brown
Flowing bank high in old Kanturk Town
They said we are not are not easy for to deceive
And your stories seem hard to believe

But now when we happen to meet
With them i am far more discreet
And since i feel for me it is better this way
To them i have little to say.