They sit, and watch the clouds go by And make believe it's Irish skies
They love the sun, but pray for rain They drink to take away the pain The London streets are paved with gold For the London Irish
You gain the world and you lose your soul Well if your picture is seen on the cover of every magazine And every TV screen, will there be anything left Of the London Irish?
They say they will return again, But they won't say exactly when...
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Copy to Clipboard: They sit, and watch the clouds go by And make believe it's Irish skies
They love the sun, but pray for rain They drink to take away the pain The London streets are paved with gold For the London Irish
You gain the world and you lose your soul Well if your picture is seen on the cover of every magazine And every TV screen, will there be anything left Of the London Irish?
They say they will return again, But they won't say exactly when...
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