*starts singing to The Paddy*
'Twas in the year of 'thirty-nine
When the sky was full of lead
When Hitler was heading for Poland
And Paddy for Holyhead
Come all you pincher laddies
And you long-distance men
Don't ever work for McAlpine
For Wimpey, or John Laing.
For You'll stand behind a mixer
And your skin is turned to tan
And they'll say 'Good on you Paddy'
With your boat-fare in your hand
The craic was good in Cricklewood
And they wouldn't leave the Crown
With glasses flying and Biddy's crying
Sure Paddy was going to town
Oh mother dear, I'm over here
And I'm never coming back
What keeps me here is the reek o' beer
I think we need to change this a wee bit
'Twas in the year of two thousand and eleven
When the sky was full of rain
When Jedward was heading for oblivion
And Paddy was prancing like a stallion
Come all you pincher laddies
And you long-distance men
Don't ever work for McAlpine
For Wimpey, or John Laing.
For You'll stand behind a mixer
And your skin is turned to tan
And they'll say 'Good on you Paddy'
With your boat-fare in your hand
The craic was good in Boreham Wood
And they wouldn't leave the Crown
With glasses flying and Biddy's crying
Sure Paddy was going to town
Oh mother dear, I'm over here
And I'm never coming back
What keeps me here is the reek o' beer