Here's to my uncle, my Uncle Doug,
small, but tough, with an Irish mug.

A straighter-talking man I've never known,
he had no use for the Blarney Stone.

He spent a King's ransom on the barleycorn,
yet he always helped a friend who was down and forlorn.

His luck at cards I could never get over,
Everywhere he went grew a four-leaf clover.

Here's to my uncle, my Uncle Doug,
we've tipped quite a few at the lil' brown jug.

We'll miss you dearly, we had such fun,
Now, bartender—I'll have another one!



North Country