The chance of the Scots voting Yes,
Is causing some orange distress,
Though maybe this year,
They’ll win it with fear,
They’ve sleepwalked right into a mess.
And you thought a bucket of ice,
Takes courage, well that’s very nice,
But burning the rag,
ISIS use as a flag,
Is a riskier roll of the dice.
We all know nobody would choose,
When reporting the latest sports news,
To be hit on the head,
With a toy used in bed,
An assault that one cannot excuse.
The airlines are quaking with dread,
As the Icelandic warning turns red,
If you’ve people to see,
Away over the sea,
Maybe travel by ferry instead.
All right thinking folk will concede,
That our youngsters know just what they need,
So light up some skunk,
And pull on a green funk,
We’re the best little country for weed.
(Sasko Lazarov/Photocall Ireland)
For the life of me I cannot see,
Why a culchie would want a degree,
They’re wasting resources,
That could go on courses,
For decent folk like you and me.
In his charming and warm folksy way,
He let every rose have her day,
But again, from Tralee,
Three more hours of TV,
Have we reached peak Daithí Ó’Sé?
We all felt austerity’s bite,
But I’m sure that you’ll think it quite right,
That poor old TDs,
Don’t pay their own fees,
To set their first language aright.
It’s so nice to see, now and then,
Token women out winning again,
But it is a disgrace,
That they don’t know their place,
And expect to be treated like men.