Glass shattering, 

beer splattering, 

people chattering. 

We’re coming out of our cage, 

doing just fine.

In search of some garlic mayo, 

Ayyy-yo.

Her hair is black, her eyes are blue, 

she’s playing a fiddle ‘round salthill. 

Look — 

just give me an irish pub 

or give me an irish pub.

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