NEWTON'S OPTIC:AS IRELAND enters a new age of foreign oppression, new rebel songs will clearly be required. The Irish Timesbrings you some early contenders for the popular anthems of the next 800 years.
Only our Rivers are Liquid
When Apple and Intel are blooming
When money again grows on trees
When call centres don’t leave for China
It’s then that our land will be free
I wander her high streets and alleys
And still through my sorrow I see
A land that has never known freedom
And now belongs to the damn ECB.
Down south They Carry On Owin’
’Twas on a dreary New Year’s Eve
As prices were marked down
A traffic jam of shoppers crawled towards a Border town
There were cars from Dublin and from Cork, diverted through Athlone
And a lot of cars from Limerick. Down south they carry on owin’.
Van Diemen’s Land
Hold me now, oh hold me now
Till this hour has gone around
And I’m gone on the rising tide
For to face Van Diemen’s land
It’s a bitter pill I swallow here
To be rent from one so dear
But we can keep in touch on Facebook
I’ll text you from Hobart arrivals.
The Ghost Estates of Athenry
Low lie the ghost estates of Athenry
Once everyone thought they were so fly
Our mortgage was agreed
Now we are in social need
It’s so lonely ’round the ghost estates of Athenry.
The Men behind the Bailout
German banks and pension funds
Came to take outrageous sums
But every man must stand behind
The men behind the bailout
Not for them a judge and jury
Nor an open court at all
Being Irish means you’re liable
So we’re liable one and all.
Come Out Brian Lenihan
Oh, come out Brian Lenihan
Come out and face us like a man
Don’t hide behind the Credit Institutions Act, section 60
Tell us how AIB made you give it our savings for free
On top of an IMF loan from Ajai Chopra.
Kevin Borrow
In Dublin one Monday morning
As a Cabinet session was ending
The young were indebted for life
In the cause of public spending
Just a tad over 18 billion
Still there’s no one can deny
As they ran from the unions that morning
They kept their own pension pot high.
The Patriot Game
My name is Ahern, and I’ve just turned 55
My home is in Dundalk, which is a terrible dive
All my life I chased after political clout
But suddenly I’ve retired, so you sort it out.
The Helicopter Candidate Song
Early one evening as the branchmen were sleeping
A helicopter candidate dropped in from the sky
Down into Louth where ex-prisoners were waiting
“Get ready for Gerry” the Shinners did cry.
The Toys of the EU Brigade
Oh, father why are you so sad
On this bright Easter morn’
When Irish men are proud and glad
Of the land where they were born?
Oh, son, I see in memory’s view
A far-off distant day
When being just a lad like you
I joined the European exchange rate mechanism.