THE STRANGER

It was about four years ago,
This fellow did appear.
A stranger from some other town,
A salesman for John Deere.
Altho he didn't know a soul,
He glowed with smile and song.
And this stranger in our city,
Wasn't strange here very long.
Wherever he would meet you,
Man or woman, girl or boy.
He would shake your hand,
And ask "What's your name?"
"I'm Pat Malloy."
So the city came to know him,
He knows every dog and cat.
And the kids that play along the street,
All call him "Uncle Pat." 
Oh, he's jolly and he's busy,
All the world to him is grand.
Any job that's big or little,
He will lend a helping hand. 
Yes, he's stubborn and he's ornery,
He has ideas of his own.
But in restaurant or in tavern,
He never drinks alone. 
And to the ones that know him,
He is the "Real McCoy,
'Cause when you're gone we miss you,
Mr. Irish Pat Malloy.

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