'Twas the night before St. Patrick's

‘Twas the night before St. Patrick’s and all through the pub
I was slugging straight whiskey and snarfing bar grub
Then what to my booze-soaked eyes should appear
But St. Patrick himself, sipping green beer
It didn’t seem right, this saint getting lit
So I staggered over to give him some shit
“You may be a saint and can do as you wish
But it isn’t right, you drinking like a fish
Boozing is fine for us earthly sort
But a saint should have a more regal comport
I don’t begrudge an Irishman his brew
But I expect more saintly conduct from you”
I finished my speech, feeling full of grace
When Saint Paddy punched me square in the face
As I lay on the floor holding my head
St. Patrick roared loud enough to raise the dead
“I’m not the ghost of St. Patrick you drunk slob
I play him in the parade, and my name’s Bob
I’ve been walking and waving for over 3 hours
So I’m ready for a beer and a shot of Powers
I’ve had bratty kids yanking my robe
While walking in sandals on a cobblestone road
I’m tired and sore and just want a rest
So go back to your stool you drunken pest”
With that he stormed out the front door
Leaving me laid out on the beer-soaked floor
I picked myself up and went back to my stool
Feeling sheepish and stupid, a world-class fool
If there’s a moral here that I can extract
Keep your mouth shut around a beer-swilling Saint Pat