| Here’s up the rebels, get back our teddy’s head
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| Her face and tail are all her own
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| But her brains are foreign led
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| On the outskirts of Europe in Atlantic so dear
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| There’s a country called old Ireland
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| That looks like a teddy bear
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| It’s an island that splits in two
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| With the border in her head
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| Her face and tail are all her own
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| But her brains are foreign led
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| Her face is o’er in Donegal
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| Her brains are in Belfast
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| Her arms outstretched in Galway
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| For her friends that do go past
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| Her hair is on the north coast
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| In Derry, Antrim, Down
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| I’m sure this head would be better off
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| Without the bloody crown
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| Her backbone’s on the east coast
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| From Dublin to Dundalk
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| Her legs and feet in Kerry
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| They have shoes that never walked
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| Her backside’s in Cork and Wexford
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| Her heart in Midlands
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| We’re facing towards America
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| With our arse to England
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| So listen proud Britannia
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| To what I say to you
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| Would you like if your head was owned
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| By someone quite untrue
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| And they planted foreign fleas
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| To mix in with your breed
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| Before another year has passed
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| You’d never know your creed
|
| On the outskirts of Europe in Atlantic so dear
|
| There’s a country called old Ireland
|
| That looks like a teddy bear
|
| It’s an island that splits in two
|
| With the border in her head
|
| Her face and tail are all her own
|
| But her brains are foreign led |