( As it used to say in Mad Magazine, freely sung to the tune of " Come On Eileen" by Dexy’s Midnight Runners )
Poor old Biscayne Bay
When a mighty wind began to blow, everyone drove right down to the sto’
All the tarpon died- washed up and we ate 'em
Wind rose, so hard the wind rose, ‘pears that we’re in for some weather
Blew ya blew ya blew ya up the bay
And then she came roarin’ right up the coast
Blow hard Irene,
Neither tarps or visqueen will protect all the goods
In our neighborhoods
Pressure’s depressed, clouds are roiling at best, oh blow hard Irene
Best pull in the beer, cuz the kegs will crush
With the drydock broke south of Roanoke
And the lassies searching for their blokes
Wreck us, yes she’ll wreck us
Cause we’re out in deadly weather
Remember Georgia- 'Ginny- Del’ware blown awayyyyy
We get no more trips to the Jersey Shore
Blow hard Irene,
Neither tarps or visqueen will protect all the goods
In our neighborhoods
Pressure’s depressed, clouds are roiling at best, oh blow hard Irene
Blow hard, Irene will wreck our day
Blow hard up into Hudson’s Bay
Man what a storm, sure ain’t the norm
Blow hard, Irene