The innocent have shamrocks in his eyes,
His blood is heritage, this Irish boy cannot hide.
I'd beach to the rhythm of the [bad word]  of the valley bad's Joe.
His blood was three colours: green, white and gold.

At night these cobbled streets I roam.
This sovereign state is home.

I know I'll be

At night these cobbled streets I roam.
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.
This sovereign state is home.

At night these cobbled streets I roam.
At night these cobbled streets I roam.
This sovereign state is home.