Every song is an Irish dirge
Every tune somehow seems to merge
There's no hope of rock
It's just the usual crock
Every song, every song is an Irish dirge
Every year, we produce the same
Something bland, slightly dull and tame
We don't try that much
Though harder than the Dutch
Every year, all we send is an Irish dirge
Chorus
Singing colourless fluff
We've got shed loads of this stuff
Every one sounding like the last
Add some pipes, add a flute
Put the singer in a suit
Every year, every song is an Irish dirge
We remember the golden days
When we went through a winning phase
We picked up the gong
Each year the same old song
But these days, no one votes for the Irish dirge
Chorus
So next year, you will see
When we meet in Helsinki
We'll surprise you with what we send
Dana in a gimp mask
Linda Martin in a basque
Soon enough, you'll be wanting an Irish dirge
Sure you'll beg, you'll all beg for an Irish dirge
Sure enough, you'll all beg for an Irish dirge
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