Live The Dream

Live The Dream

Sean sells fake Irish Whiskey at the weekend.
Monied fools
believe in him and him the product.
He professionally tempts foreign investors
to drink him in,
dowsed in false ideas and too much grin.

Never having set foot on The Emerald Isles
he weaves a yarn,
knits them an Aran jumper of disillusion
to keep them drunk
on this terrible product that tastes of pig muck.

Sean sells fake Irish Whiskey at the weekend.
He's living the dream, he's wearing the t-shirt
laughing in the choleric faces of his customers,
like a dyed ginger
his black roots are on display
as he slurs that he never even drinks the stuff.

Sean sells swill wrapped in gold
at the weekend.
He urges you to take a sup,
lap at the pool of his rakish wit,
Hamming up his dodgy brogue
for the hard sell,
all you need is charm in this fickle world.

Sean sells fake Irish Whiskey at the weekend
He's selling the dream and living a lie.
In cavernous bars in Antigua
he defends his honour,
that he's just doing what he fecking needs
to get by.