He's just a plastic Paddy singing plastic Paddy songs In a plastic Paddy pub that they call the Blarney Stone There's plastic shamrocks on the wall there's guinness and green beer And a sign in gaelic above the bar which says god bless all here
His guitar sounds like a wardrobe(?) and it's out of tune at that His singing voice it ranges from a sharp to a flat He just desecrated the Holy Ground with a bark-like Velvet Band Sang Seven Nights Drunk and now he's sunk The Irish Rover with all hands
Cos he's just a plastic Paddy singing plastic Paddy songs In a plastic Paddy pub that they call the Blarney Stone There's Aer Lingus posters everywhere from pretty Irish Scenes All peaceful and Idylic and very bloody green
He's done awful things to Molly Malone and the fair Rose of Tralee He's murdered Carrick Fergus and poor old Mother Macree He's thrashed his way through Galway Bay and the Wild Irish Rose And if he starts singing Danny Boy I'm going to punch him in the nose
When Irish Eyes are Smiling and The Mountains of Mourne In the search for Celtic cliches(?) man has left no stone unturned Till he embarks upon The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls Accompanying himself on the bodhran which takes a lot of courage
Cos he's just a plastic Paddy singing plastic Paddy songs In a plastic Paddy pub that they call the Blarney Stone Now he's just sung in his mother tongue, the ancient Irish erse And cleared the pub completely by the forty-second verse
Cos he's just a plastic Paddy singing plastic Paddy songs He's started singing Danny Boy so it's time that I was gone And just one thought comes to my mind as I stagger through the door Where are you when we need you Christy Moore