-Sing us a song, then. You're Irish. That's what the Irish do after a drink, isn't it?
-What would I sing?
-Mm... something about cliffs and a girl with golden black hair. And the English all being bad.
- Sing it yourself.
- Fine!
Oh, Eamonn, Danny dear
I miss the Galway Bay
And I'll sing for all I got
And a riddle-diddle Dublin
And a riddle-diddle Donegal
The English are all bollocks.