What're ye lookin' at? Yeah, that's what I thought. Ye tall bastard. Now look it 'im, walkin' away like a coward. Ye hear me, coward? Keep walkin' away, ye son of a whore! Anyway, bless me, what was I goin' on about?

Oh yes, I do recall; ye asked about my pot o' gold, like that's a real thing. It's not, by the way. Oh, don't misunderstand me, fella. In the years after my forefathers came to this New World, every 'chaun in the land had money linin' their pockets. The way my granddad talks about it, he calls it “The Days o' Gold.”

Its all gone now though; stolen or lost, or pissed away on the bottle. Ye notice how the Irish and the Mexicans stick together in their own little communities, 'stead of splittin' up? We shoulda done that. We shoulda stayed together 'stead of hittin' tha roads in 1s and 2s. But 'chauns aren't built like that. We're pretty solitary creatures, y'see. We'll usually find somethin' we're good at, and then try to make it a profit.

Take me, for a point of example. I like ta tell stories. Some are true as my hat, some are false as my boots. But as long as I spun ya the story, ye'll still pay me tha $20, yeah? Good lad, good, because the story's done.