everything’s racing in Belfast

no one goes slow past Kennedy’s Way

everybody’s hurtlin’ down Victoria Street

catchin’ the brew

starin’ at the fuzz

everything’s groovin’ in Belfast

no one goes slow, past the ould Albert clock

everyone’s drunk and fantastic

laughin’ outside Lavery’s

bruisin’ outside the M Club

Spuds is long gone, laughter keeps on

everybody’s jiggin’ as of old

men and women, mad as the flys

dancin’ their hearts out in the cold

dancin’ in the road

bottles in hand

dancin’ like a wee girl

dancin’ like a man

lovin’ the cold feelings

that permeate the wraps

cold as a hot coal

our laughter is like the last dance

of a corpse, all aflame

as the fires burn him or her up

we brave the fields of eternity

at death, pale reaper, we laugh

for we are Irish, we are the few

who remained in the sufferin’

no exchanging their gold for our green

for grass is all we have

and, of course, the laughs

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