Oh stop complaining, and pay back the money Your country now owes as it goes down the swanee It’s all our fault, though we’ll never acknowledge it You won’t even get so much as an apology Wipe our hands clean, and be done with the guilt Why should we cry over milk that we’ve spilt? We’re hardly to blame, I mean really, in fairness You’d have to have some kind of basic awareness Of finance and credit, sustainable markets While we pegged our eggs all into one basket And if the effects of our bets are disastrous, And we make a mess someone else will clean after us CHORUS So, stick your fingers in your ears And sing so you can’t hear And everything just disappears Sit back and relax as our nation goes under Reflect how we wrecked it and tore it asunder Ponder who squandered the revenue’s coffers Wonder who plundered the property profits The budgets we bought like we thought it was Christmas We borrowed for buildings like nobody’s business Purchasing property ten times our salary A nation embracing collective insanity But, your loans are your own, whereas ours are communal And so are the legal fees for the tribunal To unravel the baffling hows and the whys and fathom the reasons we rezoned the island CHORUS It’s great that the state has accepted our offer To pay back our debts until we’re back in profit We chanced our arm, and the idiots bought it And then put our other hand into your pockets The masses of asses will pay off our losses They’ll get the debt from the wealth we made off with The plebs and the proles will return you to office The deficit grows, who knows what it’ll cost us By us, I mean you and the struggling classes We’ll wine and dine as the country collapses We splashed the cash and devalued our assets Now you’re all smashed, but the backlash was half-assed CHORUS The best thing of all now the government own us is When we were fired we got six figure bonuses. Secrets we’d leak we will now keep in confidence Rest assured, we’ll reward our incompetence Not to mention the pensions we got for our uselessness Corners we cut with cute tax elusiveness Books that we cooked, and our bogus balances Funds that we funnelled, expense account allowances (When) we’re back in the black, then we’ll resume our autonomy (We’ll) self-regulate; this time we’ll do it honestly (We’ll) make ourselves rich and this time we’ll keep it By us, we mean us; and not you, nor the people CHORUS Stick your fingers in your ears And sing so you can’t hear And everything just disappears So sing la lala lalalalalalalalalalalalala You’ll bear the brunt of the bill for this crisis: The homes you now own are worth half of their prices You’re taxed to the max and we’re cutting your benefits When you’re laid off, you’re paid off with measly severance We’re proud to announce to a new generation Our old policy of mass emigration Let’s go back and do things like we used to And export our youth and mortgage their futures Let’s banish our brightest and best from the nation While the land of their birth is doomed to stagnation Left in the hands of the morons and muppets It’s true it’s not new, but it’s all we’ve come up with CHORUS Stick your fingers in your ears And sing so you can’t hear And everything just disappears So sing la lala lalalalalalalalalalalalala I can’t hear, I can’t hear, I can’t hear anything at all

YET ANOTHER NATIONAL ANTHEM The streets are a-bubblin’ with urine in Dublin as I’m stumblin’ home to my bed These rivers of Guinnesses shrivel our penises, soon we will be intravenously fed And sagely Saint Patrick explained with a hat-trick and made us all good Catholic men But bishops are blameless, their sermons are shameless, the victims are nameless to them Oh my oh my If it weren’t so funny I would cry In jaw-dropping ignorance we distrust immigrants, haven’t a thing against them per se As long as you stay in your homes far away, living poor in your wars dying after day after day How quickly forgotten how we were once trod on when we were the foreigners feared Our long diaspora still means there are more of us living abroad than are here Oh my oh my If it weren’t so funny I would cry And the liars in Dail Eireann make statements so glaring while blatantly sharing their bills With friends and well-wishers, and culchie ass-kissers who back them suspiciously still And countless brown envelopes approve developments, no talk of elephants in the room If only tribunals were careerist funerals, but they’ll live to ruin us again quite soon Oh my oh my If it weren’t so funny I would cry I would cry I would cry I would cry