Old Mickey Mcginn Poem by Erick Thorin

Old Mickey McGinn
Was a man who could sin
Away from old Ireland he came.
Whether he fought
Or whether he played
Always dirty he was at the game.
A temper he had
And when he got mad
Nothing would stay on the floor.
All my clothes and gear
All his food and beer
Were scattered hither and fore.
He was in the saloon
One hot afternoon
And he started demandin
And soon we all knew
McGinn was all through
When we found him outside
Neath the landin.