Mick Maloney, Robbie O'Connell - Stick to the Craythur Chords
Tempo:
59.2 bpm
Chords used:
Ab
F
C
B
Bb
Tuning:Standard Tuning (EADGBE)Capo:+0fret
Start Jamming...
Well, there are two distinct types of drinking songs in Ireland.
They're the ones that are written the morning after.
And you probably don't want to hear one of those.
And they're the ones that are written the same night as the stuff is being consumed.
And in fact, most of those songs are written about the homemade variety of whiskey in Ireland,
stuff most commonly known as Pudgene.
But it goes by a number of different names.
It's also known as the crater or the drop or the stuff or itself or the pure and about
50 million other names.
And there's one wonderful old song in praise of Pudgene, [B] which is called Stick to the Crater.
[N] Let your quacks and newspapers be cutting their capers, about curing the vapors, the
scratch and the gout with their medical potions, their serums and lotions, upholding their
notions they're mighty put out.
Who can tell the true physic to all that's pathetic and pitch to the devil cram colic and spleen?
You'll know what I think if you take a big drink with your mouth to the brink of a jug of Pudgene.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, what moderation, no dose in the nation can give consolation like Pudgene, me boy.
As a child in the cradle, me nurse with her ladle was filling me mouth with the notion of pep.
And a drop from the bottle fell into me throttle.
I capered and scrambled clean out of her lap.
On the floor I lay crawling and screaming and bawling, [Ab] till me father and mother were
called to the [Bb] fore.
Ah, sobbing and sighing, they feared I was dying, but soon found I only was crying for [N] more.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, lord, with a chuckle of babes in their truckle, they only could suckle on Pudgene,
me boys.
Through my youthful aggression and times of depression, my childhood impressions still
clung to my mind.
And at school or at college, the basis of knowledge I never could gulp till with whiskey combined.
And as older I am growing, time's ever bestowing on errands' potation a flavor so fine.
And where they may lecture on joveness nectar, itself is the only truth.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, lord, it's the right thing for courting and fighting, there's not so exciting as Pudgene,
me boys.
Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle, what's hotter than mustard and
milder than cream?
What best quits your whistle, what's clearer than crystal, [Ab] what's sweeter than honey and
stronger than steam?
What'll make the lame walk, what'll [F] make the dumb talk, the elixir of life and philosopher's stone?
And what helped Mr.
Brunnell to dig the Thames Tunnel?
Sure wasn't it Pudgene from Alderney Shore.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and [C] raising your joys.
Oh, lord, it's no wonder if lightning and thunder weren't made from the plunder [N] of Pudgene,
me boys.
Now ye maidens pathetic with lovers' athletic for [Cm] liquid cosmetic, you can't beat the drop
[Ab] with the gloat.
Your cheek, it'll make your heart leap, it would quiten a stallion or cure an owlcob.
From the mouth you would drool, be reduced to a fool.
It'd kick up your heels and [F] you'd peel to the buff.
That is, you'd be athletic while he'd be pathetic if only it'd take a few drops of the stuff.
[C] So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising
your joys.
Well, there's nothing like whiskey to make maidens frisky.
It soon separates all the men from the boys.
[Eb] [A]
They're the ones that are written the morning after.
And you probably don't want to hear one of those.
And they're the ones that are written the same night as the stuff is being consumed.
And in fact, most of those songs are written about the homemade variety of whiskey in Ireland,
stuff most commonly known as Pudgene.
But it goes by a number of different names.
It's also known as the crater or the drop or the stuff or itself or the pure and about
50 million other names.
And there's one wonderful old song in praise of Pudgene, [B] which is called Stick to the Crater.
[N] Let your quacks and newspapers be cutting their capers, about curing the vapors, the
scratch and the gout with their medical potions, their serums and lotions, upholding their
notions they're mighty put out.
Who can tell the true physic to all that's pathetic and pitch to the devil cram colic and spleen?
You'll know what I think if you take a big drink with your mouth to the brink of a jug of Pudgene.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, what moderation, no dose in the nation can give consolation like Pudgene, me boy.
As a child in the cradle, me nurse with her ladle was filling me mouth with the notion of pep.
And a drop from the bottle fell into me throttle.
I capered and scrambled clean out of her lap.
On the floor I lay crawling and screaming and bawling, [Ab] till me father and mother were
called to the [Bb] fore.
Ah, sobbing and sighing, they feared I was dying, but soon found I only was crying for [N] more.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, lord, with a chuckle of babes in their truckle, they only could suckle on Pudgene,
me boys.
Through my youthful aggression and times of depression, my childhood impressions still
clung to my mind.
And at school or at college, the basis of knowledge I never could gulp till with whiskey combined.
And as older I am growing, time's ever bestowing on errands' potation a flavor so fine.
And where they may lecture on joveness nectar, itself is the only truth.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, lord, it's the right thing for courting and fighting, there's not so exciting as Pudgene,
me boys.
Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle, what's hotter than mustard and
milder than cream?
What best quits your whistle, what's clearer than crystal, [Ab] what's sweeter than honey and
stronger than steam?
What'll make the lame walk, what'll [F] make the dumb talk, the elixir of life and philosopher's stone?
And what helped Mr.
Brunnell to dig the Thames Tunnel?
Sure wasn't it Pudgene from Alderney Shore.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and [C] raising your joys.
Oh, lord, it's no wonder if lightning and thunder weren't made from the plunder [N] of Pudgene,
me boys.
Now ye maidens pathetic with lovers' athletic for [Cm] liquid cosmetic, you can't beat the drop
[Ab] with the gloat.
Your cheek, it'll make your heart leap, it would quiten a stallion or cure an owlcob.
From the mouth you would drool, be reduced to a fool.
It'd kick up your heels and [F] you'd peel to the buff.
That is, you'd be athletic while he'd be pathetic if only it'd take a few drops of the stuff.
[C] So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising
your joys.
Well, there's nothing like whiskey to make maidens frisky.
It soon separates all the men from the boys.
[Eb] [A]
Key:
Ab
F
C
B
Bb
Ab
F
C
Well, there are two distinct types of drinking songs in Ireland.
They're the ones that are written the morning after.
And you probably don't want to hear one of those.
And they're the ones that are written the same night as the stuff is being consumed.
And in fact, most of those songs are written about the homemade variety of whiskey in Ireland,
stuff most commonly known as Pudgene.
But it goes by a number of different names.
It's also known as the crater or the drop or the stuff or itself or the pure and about
50 million other names.
And there's one wonderful old song in praise of Pudgene, [B] which is called Stick to the Crater.
[N] Let your quacks and newspapers be cutting their capers, about curing the vapors, the
scratch and the gout with their medical potions, their serums and lotions, upholding their
notions they're mighty put out.
Who can tell the true physic to all that's pathetic and pitch to the devil cram colic and spleen?
You'll know what I think if you take a big drink with your mouth to the brink of a jug of Pudgene.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, what moderation, no dose in the nation can give consolation like Pudgene, me boy.
As a child in the cradle, me nurse with her ladle was filling me mouth with the notion of pep.
And a drop from the bottle fell into me throttle.
I capered and scrambled clean out of her lap.
On the floor I lay crawling and screaming and bawling, [Ab] till me father and mother were
called to the [Bb] fore.
Ah, sobbing and sighing, they feared I was dying, but soon found I only was crying for [N] more.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, lord, with a chuckle of babes in their truckle, they only could suckle on Pudgene,
me boys.
Through my youthful aggression and times of depression, my childhood impressions still
clung to my mind.
And at school or at college, the basis of knowledge I never could gulp till with whiskey combined.
And as older I am growing, time's ever bestowing on errands' potation a flavor so fine.
And where they may lecture on joveness nectar, itself is the only truth.
_ So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, lord, it's the right thing for courting and fighting, there's not so exciting as Pudgene,
me boys.
Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle, what's hotter than mustard and
milder than cream?
What best quits your whistle, what's clearer than crystal, [Ab] what's sweeter than honey and
stronger than steam?
What'll make the lame walk, what'll [F] make the dumb talk, the elixir of life and philosopher's stone?
And what helped Mr.
Brunnell to dig the Thames Tunnel?
Sure wasn't it Pudgene from Alderney Shore.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and [C] raising your joys.
Oh, lord, it's no wonder if lightning and thunder weren't made from the plunder [N] of Pudgene,
me boys.
Now ye maidens pathetic with lovers' athletic for [Cm] liquid cosmetic, you can't beat the drop
[Ab] with the gloat.
Your cheek, it'll make your heart leap, it would quiten a stallion or cure an owlcob.
From the mouth you would drool, be reduced to a fool.
It'd kick up your heels and [F] you'd peel to the buff.
That is, you'd be athletic while he'd be pathetic if only it'd take a few drops of the stuff.
[C] So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising
your joys.
Well, there's nothing like whiskey to make maidens frisky.
It soon separates all the men from the boys.
[Eb] _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _ _ _ _
They're the ones that are written the morning after.
And you probably don't want to hear one of those.
And they're the ones that are written the same night as the stuff is being consumed.
And in fact, most of those songs are written about the homemade variety of whiskey in Ireland,
stuff most commonly known as Pudgene.
But it goes by a number of different names.
It's also known as the crater or the drop or the stuff or itself or the pure and about
50 million other names.
And there's one wonderful old song in praise of Pudgene, [B] which is called Stick to the Crater.
[N] Let your quacks and newspapers be cutting their capers, about curing the vapors, the
scratch and the gout with their medical potions, their serums and lotions, upholding their
notions they're mighty put out.
Who can tell the true physic to all that's pathetic and pitch to the devil cram colic and spleen?
You'll know what I think if you take a big drink with your mouth to the brink of a jug of Pudgene.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, what moderation, no dose in the nation can give consolation like Pudgene, me boy.
As a child in the cradle, me nurse with her ladle was filling me mouth with the notion of pep.
And a drop from the bottle fell into me throttle.
I capered and scrambled clean out of her lap.
On the floor I lay crawling and screaming and bawling, [Ab] till me father and mother were
called to the [Bb] fore.
Ah, sobbing and sighing, they feared I was dying, but soon found I only was crying for [N] more.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, lord, with a chuckle of babes in their truckle, they only could suckle on Pudgene,
me boys.
Through my youthful aggression and times of depression, my childhood impressions still
clung to my mind.
And at school or at college, the basis of knowledge I never could gulp till with whiskey combined.
And as older I am growing, time's ever bestowing on errands' potation a flavor so fine.
And where they may lecture on joveness nectar, itself is the only truth.
_ So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys.
Oh, lord, it's the right thing for courting and fighting, there's not so exciting as Pudgene,
me boys.
Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle, what's hotter than mustard and
milder than cream?
What best quits your whistle, what's clearer than crystal, [Ab] what's sweeter than honey and
stronger than steam?
What'll make the lame walk, what'll [F] make the dumb talk, the elixir of life and philosopher's stone?
And what helped Mr.
Brunnell to dig the Thames Tunnel?
Sure wasn't it Pudgene from Alderney Shore.
So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and [C] raising your joys.
Oh, lord, it's no wonder if lightning and thunder weren't made from the plunder [N] of Pudgene,
me boys.
Now ye maidens pathetic with lovers' athletic for [Cm] liquid cosmetic, you can't beat the drop
[Ab] with the gloat.
Your cheek, it'll make your heart leap, it would quiten a stallion or cure an owlcob.
From the mouth you would drool, be reduced to a fool.
It'd kick up your heels and [F] you'd peel to the buff.
That is, you'd be athletic while he'd be pathetic if only it'd take a few drops of the stuff.
[C] So stick to the crater, the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising
your joys.
Well, there's nothing like whiskey to make maidens frisky.
It soon separates all the men from the boys.
[Eb] _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Facts about this song