Look who's in the chair, that man with golden, grey hairs.
We could do with a new face, someone who does really cares.
It's a genuine disgrace to have him back in that central place
His arrogant is like a crown carried on his old swelled head.
I wish, I wish. I wish in vain, for someone ells instead.
Oh Ireland, Mother Ireland how we have left you down
Your waters run free for nine mounts in our cities and towns
At the end of that term, we once more will take to the country streets
Marching, Marching like soldiers of war in tune as the drumbeat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem