Fall with your feet on the other
Let the eyes fall dead in your head
Happiness is a hopeless fallacy
An awful screaming grind

Patch up the nothing ye bulger
And breen the good cross on your tart
I’ll have eighty five souls all asunder
If there’s anything more to be heard

Take a wile of your man he’s a header
And round back his way the craic’s good
Undergarments spoiled you unsettle me
Take the gourd out your mouth now and think

So well is the weakness ye poured out
And filled ‘er on back up with steam
I’ll give the toss they call patience
And you can do with the rest as you like

Onerous plugs all a welching
You’re the quare boy on the Bann
Give us a blast now on Monday

Because outside the chapel a blue dog yelps
And I don’t want to be the one caught cutting it