Get Your Brits Out

[Móglaí Bap] Guess who’s back on the news It’s your favourite Republican hoods It’s your fella with the Nike Air shoes Two chains, two birds and we know what’s good Guess who's back to abuse Every solvent that I choose Two blues and a pint of stout And never you mind if it smells like trout, foc [?] ag teacht i mo dhiaidh Ach Stalford agus an DUP Gach lá, taobh amuigh de mo theach Go back to Dublin if you want to rap Anois éist, I’m gonna say this once Yous can all stay just don’t be cunts And don’t be runnin' round like silly old tans Just take these yokes and we’ll go for a dance Go for a dance, go for a dance, go for a dance, go for a dance [Mo Chara] Bhí an DUP harassin' me But now we’re all on the yokes and it’s startin' to be A good night out, they forgot all about The time that I said something like ‘Brits Out’ Arlene’s throwing shapes off a yoke nearly killed her Jeffrey Donaldson’s lost all his filters Seo duit mate, take two sticks He got me in a headlock and gave me a kiss And now Christy Stalford’s having the craic Showing everyone his old tattoo on his back Arlene says ‘Relax or you’ll get sacked’ Dúirt mé ‘tóg go bog mé’, things get weird when you're whacked Brits Out for the night and we landed in Thompson’s Told Donaldson to double drop to see what happens Sammy Wilson got knocked back at the door And now he’s out the front in bad form Start na hoíche, ndeart yokes le hithe 'nois tá mála de fiche, críochnaithe These E’s are sweet, they’re sweet E's, I’m eatin em like sweeties, mála mór cola bottles agus mála meanies Get your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out We’re on a mad one Get your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out We’re on a mad one Get your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out We’re on a mad one Get your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out We’re on a mad one Ar ais ag an teach and things are getting crusty Arlene ar mo chlé and she’s getting touchy Must be, just mar gheall ar na yokes Cos she whispered in my ear ‘I like to be choked’ And then I boked right into her face Cos the room was spinning all over the place I couldn’t stand, couldn’t sit but I kept her lit And now my best mate is a distinguished Brit We’re at the afters and it’s a disaster Cunts are talkin politics, there's a lack of a laughter Skaggin' out on the sofa, Arlene’s chinned Paro off her head, she believes she’s sinned Donaldson has started with his homophobic chat So everyone has started on him and that’s enough of that Stalford’s lickin' coke off a plate You’ve got issues mate You’ve got issues mate, issues mate, issues mate, issues mate Get your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out We’re on a mad one Get your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out We’re on a mad one Get your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out We’re on a mad one Get your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out, Get Your Brits Out We’re on a mad one