Oh, he doesn't smell like Irish Spring. And he never taught me ...
"Drunken Irish Dad":
Peter: Oh, he doesn't smell like Irish Spring.
And he never taught me anything.
But still, I slap my chest and sing of my drunken Irish dad.
Oh, his face looks like a railroad map
And he never shuts his freakin' trap.
Mickey: But all the ladies catch the Clap from your drunken Irish dad!
Peter: Ask a Hennessey, Tennessey, Morris, and Chaunacy, Riven, and Rudy, they'll tell you the same.
McNulty, Mulrooney, and Carter, and Clooney all feel the same mixture of pride and of shame.
Mickey: Finnegan, Hannigan, Kelly, and Flanagan look to the ground when their dad passes by.
Hafferty, Rafferty, Joyce, and O'Lafferty fight for his honor and then start to cry!
Both: Oh, we Irish lads are all infirm
And our moods infect us like a germ,
Because we're all the spawn of a pickled sperm!
Mickey: And we don't tan well either.
Both: From our drunken Irish dad!