Friday Salsa Follies

Every Friday in the village when the workweek’s finally done,
All the lads come stompin’ in as if the night has just begun.
With pints as tall as mountains and the whiskey runnin’ free,
They’re swearin’ they can dance salsa as smooth as they can be.

But their feet are made of kettles and their balance made of smoke,
The band plays up a rhythm and the whole pub starts to joke.
They stagger toward the barmaids with a wobble and a grin,
And shout, “Come on now, darlin’, let the dancin’ begin!”

Oh the Friday salsa follies down the old pub lane,
Where the beer flows steady and the lads go insane.
With a stumble to the left and a sway to the right,
The barmaids laugh kindly at the boys each night.
Dance a little salsa, or pretend they might.

Bridget dodges Tommy as he spins the wrong way ‘round,
And Cathy nearly drops a tray from Seán’s dramatic sound.
Maeve slips past their clumsy steps like sea-wind through a sail,
While Nora taps her apron saying, “You’re drunk as Galway ale!”

But when the crowd grows thinner and the chores begin to slow,
The barmaids share a knowing look and soften up their no.
“Ah go on then,” says Bridget, “just one wee gentle song,”
And suddenly the lads stand straight—though not for very long.

Oh the Friday salsa follies down the old pub lane,
Where the beer flows steady and the lads go insane.
With a stumble to the left and a sway to the right,
The barmaids laugh kindly at the boys each night.
Dance a little salsa, or pretend they might.

The fiddle meets the congas, the whistle joins the clave,
And Pat falls into Seán again—same story every Friday.
But the barmaids twirl them gently with a patient sort of cheer,
For even drunken dancers bring a bit of joy in here.

Oh the Friday salsa follies, sure they’ll never end,
For the lads and all the barmaids know it’s laughter they defend.
With a sway and a stumble and a cheer so bright—
They dance through the village on a soft Irish night.
Salsa hearts and Irish pints—what a sight!