They are dancing tonight, the fine women
Loud is the music, beyond thinking
They are out upon the mountain
Vodka, by the bottle, drinking!
Cider they are guzzling too
Popping pills as old hat
They are dancing to the beats
Who are but seventeen if at all that.
When de Valera looks down on them
He is happy tonight it does seem
They are dancing at the crossroads
Not in the way the poor man did dream!