| The first pub we could stagger to was twelve steps from the plane
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| A Virgin flight to Shannontown the day it didn’t rain
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| The laughing eyes of Ireland sparkling blue and green
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| With hair as black as Guinness stout and barely seventeen
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| We’re back out on the cobblestones
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| Whiskey drunk and high again
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| Liquored up and gearing up for seven nights in Ireland
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| The corner booth is waiting for the session to begin
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| It’s quiet as a mother’s prayer 'till we all stumble in
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| And it’s fifty happy voices mixed with whistles made of tin
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| And a piper man is blowing like the North Atlantic wind
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| And an Aran island beauty is sawing on the violin
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| I wonder will she miss me after seven nights in Ireland
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| It’s Ladies' Day in Galway and we watched the ponies run
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| Fifty pounds against the odds and came in six to one
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| McSwiggin heard the race report, he invited us on in
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| So we drank Catholic whiskey with all our newfound friends
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| They raised a glass to all of us and we all toasted them
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| Here’s to Michael, Tom and Pat and seven nights in Ireland
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| Well we kissed all the girls goodbye and gathered in our gear
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| And when she walked me to the gate I swear I saw a tear
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| But then she looked into my eyes I knew she felt my pain
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| And only then I realized we were standing in the rain
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| So save our places at the pub and when the eyes are dry again
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| We’ll come back another day for seven nights in Ireland |