In the following poem donated by Ger Hayes tells of Jimmy Hickey who was famed in the Pennywell, Broad Street and Park areas. It tells of his journeys from the 1920s to 1940s and the 4 pawn shops and 14 pubs which he would frequent.


My name is Jimmy Hickey,
A rover bold am I
I have but one complaint in life
I’m always feeling dry,
I came of honest parents
Who always had enough.
My mother came from Boher,
My father from came Bruff.
Some call me the Wild Rover
Some call me Tub of Suds
Some call me Sour Milk Hickey
and others call me Floods
I don’t care what they call me
If it be from Clohessy s door,
Id drink my pint
Then light the joint
With the Hat my father wore.
I had some friends in Limerick,
When Id be on a booze,
Fred Parker would lone me half- a – crown,
Id lend him a pair of shoes.
I bought a Grey-back for a bob,
I tore it in a row,
I wore it inside-out for weeks,
Dot Clifford has it now.
For years I had a metal watch
To wear it I felt proud,
I painted it silver
And lent it to John Dowd.
I never yet took off my coat
To any man in Town,
Unless I was compelled to,
By uncle Patey Brown.
When I young in old Claughaun,
I spent some happy days
With Sappor Hynoo and Loxie Kerr
Before I wore a boot at all.
I played around the Hullo
With Spattoru and John Collopy,
Joe Skehan and Tom Doyle.
I killed Ag.Malleys gander,
I fished in Deegans trench,
I mooched with Brave Barrett
And fought with Sharkey Lynch
I slept at the Hot Corner
Where  good boys slept before
I skinned the Convent orchard
And banged McSweeneys door,
I rode Plut Ryans old kickor
I knocked down Cusacks wall
I bought blocks from Buttie Humphries
And mimicked Hanno Hall
I stole Kate High Holes snuffbox
And sold it to Liz Brown.
I climed up Heagneys gutter
And pulled the chimney down,
Sam Griffins bulldog ran at me
He jumped and barked, and then
I took a brike off Shortons wall
So he never barked again.
I had no fear of man or beast,
I never funked a thing,
But I would not hum The Blackbird
For the ransom of a King
But there’s one thing rises dander
In your humble servant,Floods
There’s no one safe in any job
With all the Country-Muga.
They;re here from Annacotty
And here from Barnakyle,
They walk from Castleconnell
They run in from Raheen.
They come from every village
They sneak around for jobs
They work for half the City Rate
The dirty rottan Yobo
I slaved down in the Tanyary
And did a honest day
But a rat came in from Corofin
And worked for under pay.
When I was fired,I argued a lot,
They said I had no claim
So i had to leave my place of birth
To harvest for the Dane.
I sowed for Neddie Lawlor
I mowed for Mick the Dane
Built a shed for Mike Clancy
With the help of Medium Kane,
I grew plants for Flytail Hogan,
Cleaned drains for Yellow Jack
I fed pigs for Johnnie Cusack
And milked cows for Monday Mack
I stole dung from Biddie Wattle
When she lived out in Rhebogue.
I grew mangolds for Ryan Whistler
And turnips for Sean Oge,
I dug spuds for Sogger Lawlor
And ploughed for Pa Cunneen.
I threshed for Bawney Penny
And saved hay for Ryan Bulleen
I worked for all the Cusacks
And the Crosses for a while.
But I wouldn’t work for Marlo Mullin
For the wealth of Pathy Doyle.
And when the harvest would be over,
I’d bid the Dane farewell,
Their hoadlands and their lowlands,
I’d pitch them all to hell.
With the thirst just like a limekiln,
I’d dream of pubs and bass,
I’d sail into the City
And kick off at Pat McGraths,
I’d visit all my usual haunts
Where I spent happy days
I’d drop into Kitty Hanrahans
I’d fall out of Jim Mulreadys
And into Paddy Macks
Id steal up to Taste me Butter
And down Mrs Jacks
I’d knock at Tommy Frawleys
I’d sing at Box of Bones
If I stood at Mrs Quilligans
I’d surely fall at Owens
The pint is good at Clohessys
And fair enough at Whites
But its always in conition
At Mick Histons and McKnights