The hurlers on the ditch

We’re the back seat drivers

We’re the hurlers on the ditch

We don’t do much of everything

But moan and groan and bitch

We don’t do much about it

But we’ve got a lot to say

And we’d be the first to protest

If it doesn’t go our way

If asked about your politics

We trot it out by rote

But when there’s an election

Well, we never use our vote

When logic fails we rant and rail

On the problems of our nation

But we don’t do much, we’ve go a crutch

It’s called prevarication

The foreigners, the farmers

The lesbians, the gays

And the basic rate of pay

The French, the Dutch, the English

The Spanish and the Greeks

And that poor man from Kazakhstan

Who lasted here a week

The T.Ds from the P.Ds

Fine Gael and Fine Fail

And every other bugger

That has made it to the Dáil

The single mothers on the dole

The dads that did a runner

The snow and the rain in winter

The heat and sun in the summer

There’s shysters in the paddock

There’s divers on the pitch

‘cos when we get to sport by God

It’s crowded on the ditch

The Pavies and the Romany

The Winos on the tap

The Scumbags in their gladrags

From Adidas, Nike and Gap

The mutton dressed as lamb, who lunch

Their Browne and Thomas lives

Who double park for Ireland

In the Dublin 4 wheel drives