Before I begin, I should inform you that I don’t actually mind Ed Sheeran’s music. And as far as I can see, he seems like a nice guy too. I mean, just look at this tweet. Try telling me this man doesn’t deserve a hair tussle and a goodie bag.
But I take issue with one of the songs on his new album. So much so that I’ve decided to write a whole blog about it.
Now *cracks knuckles*, let’s see how much I can Divide your opinion on “Galway Girl”.
I met her on Grafton street right outside of the bar
She shared a cigarette with me while her brother played the guitar
Five seconds in, Ed invents a brother and a guitar. Because rhyming. Then, perhaps knowing that literally nobody outside Ireland can name a single street in the country, he drops this imaginary bar onto Grafton Street, home to venues as wild as the Disney Store. To be fair, I could be wrong here. He might be using the 5 minutes or so Captain America’s spend cooking their food to share a cheeky cigarette on their doorstep. Better rush back upstairs you guys. Woo Woo’s on me.
She asked me what does it mean, the Gaelic ink on your arm?
Said it was one of my friend’s songs, do you want to drink on?
Right, so one of two things occurs here. Either this woman is a fraud. Not from Ireland. Not Galway. Fake Cailín, okay.
Or, Ed wants the American audience to recognise the mythical language of the leprechauns. Either way, I hate it. Anyway, here’s Balla Iontach.
She took Jamie as a chaser, Jack for the fun
She got Arthur on the table with Johnny riding a shotgun
Chatted some more, one more drink at the bar
Then put Van on the jukebox, got up to dance
See these are all in fact drinks, not men, and nothing is as Irish as lashing back a pint of Guiness and washing it down with some hard whiskey (????). Especially after destroying a dirty Chicken Burger and a fudge sundae at Captain America’s. Grrrr. Give me the bill and that fucking plate of Murray Mints, I demand Brown-Eyed Girl!!
You know she beat me at darts and then she beat me at pool
And then she kissed me like there was nobody else in the room
Irish women are raised in pubs. She beat him at rings too but he was too ashamed to admit it. Nobody else in the room? Well, they’ve obviously left Captain America’s, site of Ireland’s last workhouse and highest population density.
As last orders were called was when she stood on the stool
After dancing to céilidh singing to trad tunes
“Finish up there please” *lights flicking* “Time to go home there”
Ed, nobody in Ireland requests “The Siege of Ennis ” on a night out. You could have just been honest and told us she was fist-pumping to Maniac 2000 like a good Irish catholic.
And why are you trying to tick off so many Irishisms anyway? I’m half expecting the next verse to revolve around the two of you drinking tea in the Burren while an Irish Mammy complains about the immersion.
I never heard Carrickfergus ever sung so sweet
Agreed. You’ve never heard it at all *pictures Ed frantically googling Irish music the night before his album is due*.
Acapella in the bar using her feet for a beat
Oh, I could have that voice playing on repeat for a week
And in this packed out room swear she was singing to me
Ed, if you want the words “Cause I’m drunk today and I’m seldom sober” sang to your for a week, we may have to steer this blog towards an intervention.
You know, she played the fiddle in an Irish band
But she fell in love with an English man
Kissed her on the neck and then I took her by the hand
Said, “Baby, I just want to dance”
Oh Sheery boy, you’re on thin ice here. You’re John Smith and she’s Pocahontus, is it? Also, we all know you settled for fiddle. You originally wrote harp, didn’t ya. Didn’t ya?
And c’mere, you can’t just kiss ’em on the neck. There’s an established protocol
- Stare at them for five minutes. Eventually make eye contact
- Freeze, get sweaty and go buy a jaegerbomb
- Stand and dance like near them, not with them. Just near.
- Give up, go home and slap yourself in front of the mirror.
- Rinse and repeat weekly
My pretty little Galway Girl
#RipOff #RiseUp #JusticeForSteveEarle #VivaSharonShannon
And now we’ve outstayed our welcome and it’s closing time
I was holding her hand, her hand was holding mine
I predict a hand war.
Our coats both smell of smoke, whisky and wine
As we fill up our lungs with the cold air of the night
If this was a real Irish night out they wouldn’t be your coats, they’d be whatever you found stuffed down the back of the chairs people were shifting on.
I walked her home then she took me inside
To finish some Doritos and another bottle of wine
Hang on. You arrive home. You break out a bottle of wine (why are you so intent on making this woman vomit?) and then you go for the Doritos (?!?!?!) Short of busting out a bag of Mighty Munch or that weird paste glue you tried not to eat as a four-year-old, could you make your hands any messier right now? I’m curious, what flavour Doritos?
I swear I’m gonna put you in a song…..
….about…………………… a perfect night
Ah, okay. They were Chilli Heatwave.
Bonus “Castle on the Hill” round
Ehh, isn’t it really weird how Ed Sheeran basically insults all his friends in this song? Take a closer look.
One had two kids but lives alone
One’s already on his second wife
One’s just barely getting by
Hmm. Imagine what it will be like when he does arrive home.
“Oh look, all the old gang came out to see me. Made a little welcome party. Wonder why they’re all holding bats.”