Liquordale from Liquordale by The Peelers

Tara won't you marry me, carry me, bury me?
Tara won't you marry me and be my bride on Sunday
Mister I will marry you, carry you, and bury you
Had myself a drink or two but I'll be there on Sunday

I'm sure that I was here before, my head was sore, I kicked the door
Face down on the barroom floor, they locked me up til Sunday
Rose in the morn cold and pale, go the boys to post my bail
Another night in Liquordale the death of me on Sunday!

Tara will you marry me, carry me, bury me?
Tara will you marry me and be my bride on Sunday
Mister I agreed to this, when I was drunk and clearly pissed
But marry you ain't on the list so fuck yerself on Sunday!

• Punk
• celtic folk punk
• celtic punk
• celtic punk rock
• folk punk
• irish punk
• punk rock
• Montreal