I make my living with paper and pencil
And an old guitar
I use melody and words that rhyme
To tug at other's hearts
But mine is still too tender
To put her on a page
'cause I'd have to remember
The day she went away

I can't Write that, I'd have to sing it
And if I sung it, I'd have to live it
And if I lived it, it would kill me
'cause she ain't ever comin' back
And that's too sad, I can't write that

I know memories last forever
Whenever you put 'em in a song
But I can't take the chance that this one would be a big one
And they'd play it on and on
'cause when it comes to her love
I get choked up and break down
These feelings are just to much
to share with you right now

I can't Write that, I'd have to sing it
And if I sung it, I'd have to live it
And if I lived it, it would kill me
'cause she ain't ever comin' back
And that's too sad, I can't write that

She ain't ever comin' back and thats too sad
I can't write that
                    

She won't come  just when you want it 
Ya see  I'm Irish  but I'm not a leprechaun 
You wanna fight  then step up and we'll get it on 
You gotta right to the grill  I'm white and I ill 
A decendant of Dublin with titanic skill 
I ducked and I swing  next thing your jaw's broken 
Punk I ain't jokin'  you can bet you'll be chokin' 
On a fist full a nothin'  meanwhile I'll be puffin' 
On a fat blunt  run punk, you don't know the half 
Tryin' to talk shit, man, please don't make me laugh 
These Irish eyes are smilin', I'm buckwildin' 
The House Of Pain is pumpin', start jumpin' 
Freak it, funk it, back seat junk it 
If you can't get with it, you'll wind up sweatin' it 
Then you'll get a beatin' just like an egg 
It's so hard to run when you've got a broken leg 
But we can have a run off, the House Of Pain'll come off 
We got the cake that you're tryin' to get a crumb off 
The Irish stylee, the Celtic jazz 
No one has it, just us that's it 
If you try to take it, I got a big shileighly 
I don't have dreads cause I shave my head daily 
You call me a skin head, I call you a pin head 
Yo, where you been man, just like the tin man 
You got no heart, here comes the good part 
I pick 'em, buck 'em, cut 'em up, and buck them down 
No fuckin' around 
Home boy ya get clown like Krusty, trust me 
You shouldn't play, and by the way 
Top o' the mornin' to ya 

Chorus 
(What's the hassle man?) Top o' the mornin' to ya (2x) 
(Hey, are you givin' us a hassle man?) 

Greetins, salutaions 
Peace to the nations of Zulu and Islam 
Crack the bottle, rev the throttle 
Put the gear in, now you're stearin' 
Like Mario Andretti 
So let me kick it, cause I can make a wicked 
Noise like a cricket 
Rubbin' his legs, my rhymes are like eggs 
I'll keep layin' '
                    

Take a pinch of white man
Wrap him up in black skin
Add a touch of blue blood
And a little bitty-bit of red indian boy..

Curly, black and kinky
Oriental s***
If you lump it all together
Well, you've got a recipe for a get-along scene
Oh what a beautiful dream
If it could only come true
You know, you know..

What we need is a great big melting pot
Big enough to take the world and all it's got
Keep it stiring for a hundred years or more
Turning out coffee-colored people by the score

Rappers in the fires
Bishops and the gurus
We had the beatles and the sun-gods
A long time ago (it's true)
But then it really didn't matter
What religion you choose
No no no

Mick and lady faithful
And everyone who's graceful
You know the living could be tasteful
Why don't we all get together in a lovin' machine
I'd better call up the queen
It's only fair that she know
You know, you know..

Chorus x 2 (to fade)