R.O.I.

Guinness in hand, shamrocks in his eyes,
His pride, his heritage this Irish boy cannot hide.
Heart beats to the rhythm of the strumming of a paddy’s banjo,
His blood runs three colours: green, white and gold.
At night these cobbled streets I roam.
This sovereign state is home.
I know that I’ll be visiting some day,
I’ll stay with my mum’s aunt and uncle up Wexford way.
Getting merry on the ferry, the Irish Sea I’ll cross,
I’d travel miles to crawl the pubs and bars of New Ross.
At night these cobbled streets I roam.
This sovereign state is home.
I’ll hire a car and drive down to Hook Head,
Maybe train it to Tramore or limp to Loftushall instead.
Or write a song about the money and all the time I’ve spent,
A song about a boy of Irish descent.
At night these cobbled streets I roam. at night these cobbled streets I roam.
This sovereign state is home, this sovereign state is home.
At night these cobbled streets I roam. at night these cobbled streets I roam.
This sovereign state is home, this sovereign state is home.
At night these cobbled streets I roam. at night these cobbled streets I roam.
This sovereign state is home, this sovereign state is home.
At night these cobbled streets I roam. at night these cobbled streets I roam.
This sovereign state is home, this sovereign state is home.
At night these cobbled streets I roam. at night these cobbled streets I roam.
This sovereign state is home.