Oh[C] the empire it is finished,no forign lands to seize,
So the[F] greedy eye of[C] England is turning towards the[G] seas,
Two[C] hundred miles from Done[Am]gal,theres a[C] place thats called Rockall,
And the[F] groping hands of[C] Whitehall are[G] grabbing at it's[C] walls.
Oh[C] Rock on Rockall you'll never[Am] fall,for[C] Britains greedy hands,
Or you'll[F] meet the same re[C]sistance as you did in many[G] lands,
May the[C] sea-guls rise and pluck your[Am] eyes,and the[C] water crush your shell,
And the[F] natural gass wil[C]l burn your arse and[G] blow you all to[C] hell.
This rock is part of Ireland,for it's written in folklore,
When Finn McCool took a sod of grass,and threw it to the fore,
Then he tossed a pebble across the sea,where ever did it fall,
For the sod became the Isle Of Man,now the pebble's called Rockall.
Oh the sea's will not be silent,while Britannia,grabs the waves,
And remember that the Irish will no longer be your slaves,
And remember that Britannia well,she rules the waves no more,
So keep your hands off Rockall it's Irish to the core.