| Auld Nick patron saint o thieves, murderers and sailors | 
| Strike these shackles from me uh-huh | 
| Slide the bolt from out the door and tear down all the wire | 
| My baby’s growin' cold and I’m on fire | 
| The wind that whistles off the hills and carries her perfume | 
| Carries too a lonely carol badly out of tune | 
| For just tonight beyond these walls I’d lay a mountain low | 
| And sing to her like only I know how | 
| They don’t hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars | 
| So I’ll burn a paper lamp for her to see | 
| Though she’s left like a widow of a war that never was | 
| There’s a light still burns in me | 
| Auld Nick patron saint o' merchants, pawnmen and the judges | 
| Who barter with the lives o men the battlers and the bludgers | 
| Go haunt the dogs awhile they sleep and thrash em round to sense | 
| There’s too many good boys this side of the fence | 
| They don’t hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars | 
| So I’ll burn a paper lamp for her to see | 
| Though she’s left like a widow of a war that never was | 
| There’s a light still burns in me | 
| There’s boys in here for liftin' gear from non-be-wary strangers | 
| Newly minted ner-do-wells and them born with the dangers | 
| For livin' less than fruitful lives, toppin' less than faithful wives | 
| A broken line o' fools that span the ages | 
| They don’t hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars | 
| So I’ll burn a paper lamp for her to see | 
| Though she’s left like a widow of a war that never was | 
| There’s a light still burns in me | 
| Auld Nick patron saint o' fools from both sides of the law | 
| For his sake wipe the dirty grin off that fat bastards jaw | 
| For we’re lovers of tradition and we might yet find a way | 
| To hold them bloody keys come Boxing Day | 
| They don’t hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars | 
| So I’ll burn a paper lamp for her to see | 
| Though she’s left like a widow of a war that never was | 
| There’s a light still burns in me | 
| They don’t hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars | 
| So I’ll burn a paper lamp for her to see | 
| Though she’s left like a widow of a war that never was | 
| There’s a light still burns in me | 
| Burn it, boys! |