Well, ye t'ink oi've a rilly cute accent,
And ye've brought all t' U2 CDs
Oi've been told Boston's pretty, but oi've never been
So stop stereotoiping me, please

Oi can't stand t' taste of potaters
And Guinness just muddles me 'ead
And alt'ough ye may not believe it
T'ere's no leprechauns under me bed

And me brudder's not a policeman
(He works 9 t' 5 making plum jam)
Oi don't have t' charm o' Pierce Brosnan
Oi'm still livin' at home wit' me mam...

And oi aren't Riverdancin' for no-one
And oi'm not down t' pub ev'ry noight
Oi've not contemplated t' priesthood
And oi've never once been in a foight

And oi can't play t' bloody tin whistle
And oi've never worn anyt'ing green
Oi don't keep a horse in t' back yard
And moi sisters aren't all named Colleen

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

Oi've got more t'an one pair o' trousers
And oi'm not always up for the craic*
If ye greet me, "Top o' t' mornin'",
Hey, oi moight just well give ye a slap...

And t'ere's no shamrocks in me garden
And no gingers in moi fam'ly tree
It's easy t' fall for t' blarney,
Sure, oi'm Oirish: but mostly oi'm ME!

But oi'll tell ye a fact, trut'fully;
Ye don't need cash fer whisky: it's free!
("Gullible" ain't in t' diction'ry.....)