When Irish eyes are smiling, they are something something,
something big,
and blue,
and gold
When come the Irish,
follows the rainbow,
and the diagonal hash marks that belong to us,
and only us,
And when we meet you down the line,
where your sidewalk ends,
we will be happy to clarify what has been left unsaid here,
about our worth,
our strength,
our willingness to protect the moat,
When you throw down your sword,
what is left of it,
and you pretend this is B.C.,
we will buy right into that mess of yours,
until you see good and well,
the palms of touchdown Jesus,
and that we are something something,
we are N.D.
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