They wear green. And they are beautiful. And their hearts are filled with love. They're as pure as any lily. And as gentle as the dove. They'll sing and cheer in harmony. Till their throats are cracked & sore. But there is no doubt. You'll hear them shout. When Jackie's heroes score. Too-ra-loo Too-ra-loo. And we'll follow Jack's heroes. Whatever they do. They'll come from Dublin. And from Cork from dear old Donegal. From London Boston & New York. From anywhere at all. From Parramatta to Fermoy. Strabane to Skibereen. (And will) the shout go up. When the World Cup. Is raised on Stephens Green. (Yes it will). And when we're there in Italy. On Sardinia's sunny shore. We'll be the boys you'll want to see. The boys you'll all adore. We'll play like perfect gentlemen. To win to lose to draw. For we're here to take the World Cup. To Paddy's shamrock shore