Come Here To Me!

How the bailout works?

Shay Healy has written a poem on the state of Ireland’s financial crisis. Enjoy.

1. If Finn Mac Cool came back again
I wonder what he’d say
When he sees the state of chassis
That old Ireland’s in today
Nearly half a million on the dole
Who’s next to join the queue
It’s possible the bird shit
Is about to land on you

We were sold out by the builders
Buying land up left and right
They were borrowing in millions
To the bankers great delight
Cos the bonuses were flying round
Like snuff would at a wake
Oh one half of them was giving
With the other half on the take

2. Twas on September 28th
A meeting was convened
Both BOI and AIB
We’re up the creek it seemed
The meeting never happened
Brian Cowen, the Taoiseach swore
But he’s just another liar, and he should be shown the door.

And along with Mary Harney and her fucked up H.S.E.
The should put those assholes on a raft and push,
them out to see
Cos there’s old folk lying on trollies
And there’s helpless children dying
But no one’s prepared to take the blame
And no one will resign.

3. Cowen’s haircut’ brutal
He’s a cuclchie to his boots
And you’d swear that Stevie Wonder was in charge of
Buying his suits
He looks a stone too heavy
From front-loading chips and beans
With a jumbo breakfast roll or two as snacks for in
Between

Cowen and Brian Lenihan
Bought Sean Fitzpatrick’s spoof
He said he was a genius
They took his words as proof
And as Anglo’s shares came tumbling down
Who was on the radio?
It was Seanie, telling Marion
How much he didn’t owe

4. Lehiman Brothers were to blame
Said Bertie were to blame
But just in case they weren’t
Bertie hightailed out of town
Giving lectures in Polan
Where he’s charging them a mint
If they heed a word he’s saying
Poor old Poland will be skint

He wants to be our president
We gave him plenty rode
And sure enough he hanged himself
He’s such a stupid dope
He climbed into a cupboard
For a stupid T.V. Ad
And threw away whatever little bit of dignityH
He had

5. But the chickens have come home to roost
Its not unfair to say
That the lads all suck in NAMA
They have learnt to rue the day
What a pity no one’s gone to jail
But perjury’s a skill
And the whole thing is so neatly wrapped
That no-one ever will

And if and when the last day comes, don’t be a bit
Surprised
If Emmet, Pearse and Tone
Are so embarrassed that they hide
For they shed their blood for freedom and the upshot
Of it all
Is that onanists are all that represent us in the Dail

(Repeat as second half of verse)

We were sold out by the builders
Buying land up left and right
They were borrowing in millions
To the bankers great delight
Cos the bonuses were flying round
Like snuff would at a wake
Oh one half of them was giving
With the other half on the take