| They wear green
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| And they are beautiful
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| And their hearts are filled with love
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| They’re as pure as any lily
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| And as gentle as the dove
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| They’ll sing and cheer in harmony
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| Till their throats are cracked & sore
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| But there is no doubt
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| You’ll hear them shout
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| When Jackie’s heroes score
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| Too-ra-loo Too-ra-loo
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| And we’ll follow Jack’s heroes
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| Whatever they do They’ll come from Dublin
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| And from Cork, from dear old Donegal,
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| From London, Boston, & New York,
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| From anywhere at all,
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| From Parramatta to Fermoy,
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| Strabane to Skibereen
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| (And will) the shout go up When the World Cup
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| Is raised on Stephens Green
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| (Yes it will)
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| And when we’re there in Italy
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| On Sardinia’s sunny shore
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| We’ll be the boys you’ll want to see
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| The boys you’ll all adore
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| We’ll play like perfect gentlemen
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| To win, to lose, to draw
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| For we’re here to take the World Cup
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| To Paddy’s shamrock shore |