Paddy Boy

Oh Paddy boy, the wind turbines a screamin’
From ridge to ridge, and on the plateaus high
Their peace is gone, and they are all a-cryin’
’Tis you, ’tis you that goes, but they must bide.

No deer they’ll see when summer’s in the meadow
Their birds and bats hacked to pieces blow by blow
No sleep they’ll get with the noise and flick’ring shadows
Oh, Paddy boy, we surely do despise ye now.

Some want to leave, but their properties are worthless
So stay they must, but gagged they ne’er shall be
The truth, we know, you’ll not likely ever confess
But all will see your handiwork in their DVD

They’ve lost, but others won’t be so quick to take your swill
Tin Horns and Calicos will find you, that they will
Where e’er you go, you’ll be hounded from vale to hill
Be it in Berne or Knox or Rensselaerville.