How adopted in Ireland singing of dead

few are likely among us Ger „Farmer“ Foley noch zu Lebzeiten gekannt haben – und viel wird sich an dem Umstand auch nach dem Beitrag nicht ändern und doch wäre es schade, if you missed this little story. Foley seems to have been a good friend, what one looks again to his surviving friends, who stop after the funeral Foley in a Pub. One is drinking, one thinks of the deceased, vielleicht lacht man auch über gemeinsame Geschichten aus der Vergangenheitund dann steigt plötzlich einer seiner Freunde, Brian O’Sullivan, the Bar, hält eine kleine Ansprache und stimmtMr. Brightsidevon den Killers an – genau das Lied, Foley always stated Silvester best.

Ger Farmer Foley from Tim Clifford.
Locals in Falveys Bar, Killorglin, Kerry, Ireland paid tribute to Ger Foley on the night of his funeral in the best way possible. Rocking out to Mr Brightside. RIP Ger

Ger Farmer Foley

The Killers even got the story winds and following it reacts:

DBD: The Cowboy’s Christmas Ball – The Killers

Due at the time, in which we are just for you „The Killers“ With „The Cowboy’s Christmas Ball“…

The Killers - The Cowboy's Christmas Ball

Way out in Old Nevada, where the Truckee’s waters flow,
Where the cattle are „A browzin '“ an‘ the Spanish ponies grow;
Where the Northers „as a-whistlin '“ From Beyond the Neutral Strip;
And the prairie dogs are sneezin‘, as if they had „The Grip“;
Where the coyotes come a-howlin‘ ‚round the ranches after dark,
And the bluebirds are a-singin‘ to the lovely „meadow lark“;
Where the bighorns are a-grazin‘ and the lonely plovers call —
It was there that I attended „The Cowboys‘ Christmas Ball.“

The boys had left the ranches and come to town in piles;
The ladies — „kinda scatterin'“ — had gathered in for miles..
The room was togged out gorgeous – with mistletoe and shawls,
And candles flickered frescoes, around the airy walls.
The women folk looked lovely – the boys looked kinda treed,
Till the leader got to yellin‘: „hey, fellers, let’s stampede!“
And the music started sighin‘, an‘ awailin‘ through the hall
As a kind of introduction to „The Cowboys‘ Christmas Ball.“

Their leader was a feller that came from Swenson’s ranch,
They called him „Windy Billy,“ From „little Deadman’s Branch.“
His rig was „kinda careless,“ big spurs and high-heeled boots;
He had the reputation that come when „a fellers shoots.“
His voice was like a bugle upon a mountainous height;
His feet were animated an‘ a mighty, Movin‘ sight,
When he commenced to hollerin‘, „Now, fellers stake your pen!“
„Lock horns with all them heifers, an‘ russle ‚em like men.
„Salute yer lovely critters; now swing an‘ let ‚to go,
„Climb the grape vine ‚round ‚em — all hands do-ce-do!
„You Mavericks, join the round-up – Just skip her waterfall,“
Huh! It was gettin‘ Happy, The Cowboys‘ Christmas Ball

Don’t tell me ‚After cotillions, or Germans, no sir’ee!
That whirl at Carson City just takes the cake with me.
I’m sick of lazy shufflin’s, of them I’ve had my fill,
Just Give me a frontier break-down, backed up by Wild Ol‘ Bill.

McAllister ain’t nowhere, when Windy leads the show,
I’ve seen ‚em both in harness, and so I sorta know —
Oh, Bill, I sha’n’t forget ya, and I’ll oftentimes recall,
That lively gaited soiree — „The Cowboys‘ Christmas Ball.“

Oh, Bill, I sha’n’t forget ya, and I’ll oftentimes recall,
That lively gaited soiree — „The Cowboys‘ Christmas Ball.“