An Irish peasant boy escaped prison once, his name was slow and swift

He came out okay, a couple of inks
Yet not an Italian bride was he made

Rose tattoo for him

In his search for Irish souls
Bounded by his honesty
Call me one last eve

In the birch trees Russian mold and
An Irish corner and fair well for you

In a row of tattoos
In a row of tattoos

Evenings under hue

Branded as a save
Laughed at called hate
In a row of tattoos
In a row of tattoos
There's no daylight for you

His families lies I'll save
Evenings under hue

Brand him no more praise
His and high above
In the birch trees gentle suns
A beauty in the East
Sister save a thousand days
His harp I'll play a thousand arts

His families life I'll save
Never a rise nor a ruse
Some kids from giving up
Not this tail it's been enough

In a row of tattoos
In a row of tattoos

In an officer of something compliant
We're Irish journalists

Puddles of Mudd wouldn't sigh
Good mornings Jenna half a smile for the news

No news for a peace time generals retirement in New York means no peace may be spoken on earth

Our allegiance to liberty is as Irish journalists

Diplomacy and resolve

We answer of not your inference of account

Kendall nothing's changed between us, just farthings and coffees with Paris

Hot noodles and jalapeno cheese bagels