| Peckerwood, peckerwood, tell me your tale
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| Please do explain why your skin’s so pale
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| And you’re so funky, now how can that be
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| Like a bird in a tree on the TLP
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| It’s the Irish intellect, no one disrespected
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| My shit’ll get hectic real quick
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| This is the House Of Pain (pain)
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| And pain is one thing we’re not
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| Cause we know we’ve got
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| Style and fashion, smoke some hash and
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| I’m smackin' up girls like cars were crashin'
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| Danny Boy, Danny Boy, the pipes are callin'
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| Thought you was a winner, ya was, now you’re all in
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| That’s right, damn skimpy, ya can’t get with me
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| I run the whole track and leave ya three laps back
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| Chop seuy don’t do me no good
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| I gotta have corn beef and cabbage, if I wanna manage
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| I never eat pig, but I’ll fuck up a potato
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| I’m not a dago, but pasta’s all that
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| My pockets stay phat, so step the fuck back
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| You wanna move on me, you better bring an army
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| I rip shit daily, ask my man Tom Baily
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| I’m rockin' the clock like if I was Bill Hailey
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| I’m cockin' my glock, and I got my shileighly
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| So watch your lady, because I’m
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| (Danny Boy!) Danny Boy
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| (Danny Boy!) You know it’s Danny Boy
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| (Danny Boy!) 'S Danny Boy
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| (Danny Boy!) You know it’s Danny Boy
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| (Danny Boy!) 'S Danny Boy
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| (Danny Boy!) You know it’s Danny Boy
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| (Da ney Boy, Da Da ney Boy)
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| Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
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| From glen to glen, and down the mountainside |