Lads from the Countryside

I still don’t really know, is it love or is it hate?
but being born and raised up here it’s all in all quite great
we have craic in such a simple way with pints of plain galore
enough to wake up the morning arse up on the floor

Six are the pubs and it’s more than I could wish
At seven strictly I’m after finishing my dish
While at eight I’m on me stool, drinking like a fool
You’re still grappling with picking your outfit to be cool

We are the lads from the countryside
We get your name brands late
Our clothes are out-of-date
But we are a bunch of friends
Who do not mind the trends
And we won’t change for anything at all

There I see your concrete cage for which you pay a mortgage
you are not even inside and your bank account is dry
Working day and night, there’s no leisure to delight
And you fall asleep and snore in front of the telly screen

The underground each morning, the bus ride and a walk
Two hours on the road and you’re almost there at work
Cellophaned in your suit, you enjoy your office life
But well, me friend, I honestly cannot understand why

We are the lads from the countryside
We get your name brands late
Our clothes are out-of-date
But we are a bunch of friends
Who do not mind the trends
And we won’t change for anything at all

From the remote strand of Enniscrone to the streets of New York
Canada or Brisbane, I can’t forget where I’m from,
Your hoaxes and your laughs are no skin off me nose
Deep down I’m a bogman and I certainly can’t grouse

With a few pints and a chat, for a short period of time,
We once increased the limit of the craic to ninety-one
The word’s still going round through the elders of the town
“Those outrageous lads have gone too bloody far!”