THE Irish anaconda
There in the hedge out yonder
          Looks for the boobs
          Poor foolish Rubes
Wherever they may wander.

The Irish anaconda
My—how he loves to squander
          My ruddy gore
          Forevermore.
I'm in the clutches yonder
My hair turns white, I'm blonder
          Than any Swede
          Indeed, indeed
The snake—he's an absconder.

I feel a bite
I cannot fight
          The Irish anaconda—
He curls about
Poor me poor lout
          When suddenly from yonder
The Orange boa constrictor
Just like a Roman Lictor
          Tackles the green absconder.

The fight is short
No sport, he's caught
          That Orange snake, he'll wander
No more poor bug
Smashed in the hug
          Crushed by the anaconda.

He sprawls out limp
The simp, poor pimp
          That Orange boa constrictor
Poor foolish fake
Caught by that snake
          The Irish Roman lictor.

We shout with glee
Both you and me
          We bless the snake absconder
Each Orange sty
Is conquered by
          The Irish anaconda.

THE END

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