[D]They say that the lakes of Kill[A]arney are fair
That no stream like the Liffey can[G] ever com[A]pare,
water you want, you'll find [A]nothing more rare
Than the stuff they make[G] down by the[A] oce[D]an.
The[D] sea, oh the sea is the[G] gradh geal mo[D] croide*
[A]Long may it stay between [G]England and[A] me
a[D] sure guaran[A]tee that some[D] hour we'll be free
Oh, thank[A] God we're sur[G]rounded by[A] wa[D]ter.
Tom Moore made his "Waters" meet fame and reknown
A great lover of anything dressed in a crown
In brandy the bandy
old Saxon he'd drown
But throw ne'er a one in the ocean.
The Scots have their Whisky, the Welch have their speech
And their poets are paid about tenpence a week
no hard words on England they speak
Oh Lord, what a price for devotion.
The Danes came to Ireland with nothing to do
But dream of the plundered old Irish they slew,
"Yeh will in yer vikings"
said Brian Boru
And threw them back into the ocean.
Two foreign old monarchs in battle did join
Each wanting his head on the back of a coin;
If the Irish had sense they'd
drowned both in the Boyne
And partition thrown into the ocean.