About a maid I’ll sing a song,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
About a maid I’ll sing a song
Who didn’t have her family long.
Not only did she do them wrong,
She did ev’ryone of them in, them in,
She did ev’ryone of them in.
Sorry to be kind of jerkish, but I am going to make a stupid suggestion: the chorus ought to be “Are she green. Are she green.” Because the Celtic language naturally puts the verb at the beginning of a sentence, and, well, “are she” sounds vaguely like “Irish”.
They come over here and they take all our land
They chop of our heads and they boil them in oil
Our children are leaving and we have no heads
We drink and we sing and we drink and we die
We have no heads, no we have no heads
Oh, Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that’s crawlin’ round?
Our protein sweet by law’s forbid to dig from Irish ground!
The humble Irish dinner bowl no more shall writhe and squirm
For there’s a cruel law agin’ the eatin’ of the worm!
The eatin’ of the worm!
The eatin’ of the worm!
For there’s a cruel law agin’ the eatin’ of the worm!