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
