On a cold winters morning, On a bus bound for Milltown,
There sat Michael Stone armed with hand grenades and guns,
With a smile as sleakit as a snake my friend and a Duffell coat to his knees,
He sat in the chapel with Gerry and Martin and listened to thier hail mary's.
Well he walked into the cemetary and hs spoke to the guards again,
They just waved and winked at him, As he walked on by,
And he stood in the crowds with all the people, as if he was one of thier own,
But as soon as they started talkin in Irish Micheal began to throw.
Well he knew when to hold them, Knew when to throw them,
Knew when to run, But he never he just walked away,
And the fenians started chasing him, There was twenty dozen more,
Michael stopped, Had a wee look, And threw a couple more.
Well he knew when to hold them, Knew when to throw them,
Knew when to run, But he never he just walked away,
And the fenians started chasing him, There was no hedges or alley's,
But it was Michael 3 - Milltown 0, Chucky your bollocks.
Well he knew when to hold them, Knew when to throw them,
Knew when to run, But he never he just walked away,
And the fenians started chasing him, There was no hedges or alley's,
But it was Michael 3 - Milltown 0, Chucky your bollocks.