I was rolling in it but it’s all been reclaimed
The mighty Celtic Tiger lies battered and defamed
Black tae and dry bread from now on I’m afraid
We’ve hit the arse end of our affluent escapade
It would be back down the mines for me, if we had any
And looking for a sub from the incapacitated Granny
Watch Peig Sayers climb back up the bestseller list
As you sneak down the local at lunch to get pissed
The youngsters will ring to reclaim their old room
Beached and abandoned by fast receding boom
Hand back the Range Rover with a lump in the throat
And the forty foot Olympic, “it’s a feckin’ yacht, not a boat”
Nothing for me now but the old bedsit in Marino
But please, one for the road, one last iced frappuccino
Strike another match, go start anew
‘Cos it’s all over now, baby blue
