We all went out to Italy,
The Galleon band and me,
We landed in the scorching heat,
Complete with duty free,
We had bodhrans, banjos and guitars,
And spoons and mandolins,
And a continental ceili in Italy begins.

There was Tim the Face and Loon the Moon,
And Welter Walsh as well,
There was Micky Harte and Mensa Lynch,
The truth to you I tell,
We were captains in Jack's army,
With our gadgets painted green,
We sang "The Banks" and "Molly Malone"
And "Revenge for Skibbereen"

The day the England game was on,
We gathered all about,
They closed down every pub in town,
There was an awful drought,
We assembled in our thousands,
And we marched up to the ground,
Ole, ole, ole, ole became an Irish sound.

There was skinheads there from Portsmouth,
With chains around their necks,
There was Paddys there from Killtimaugh,
With Prayer books and travellers cheques,
In a sea of green we roared and screamed,
John Bull was on the rack,
Linecker's goal was a pain in the ass,
But Sheedy got one back.

We're football crazy, we're football mad,
Since Jackie joined the boys in green,
What mighty crack we've had,
We were the boys in Sicily, in Stuttgart and in Rome,
And win or lose there'll be no blues,
We'll cheer or heroes home.

There was session after session,
When Ireland got the goal,
T'was better than any fleadh,
They ever had down in Listowel,
Tim the Face he played a reel,
For some Scots and Slavs and Checks,
A Brazillian lass with a samba drum,
Had her arm around Welter's neck.

Micky Harte and Mensa open up their own sheeben,
And made a million Lira selling raw poteen,
And Loon the Moon had a Cameroon,
In my dreams I see her still,
She was drinking pints of Guinness,
And singing "Spancilhill"

Ruddi Guillit then came next,
And the crowd from Egypt too,
Romania were next in line,
For our Irish heroes true,
Carried along on a great green wave,
Of supporters all from home,
They answered every question,
And then invaded Rome.

We met some senorienas,
With cornettos in their mouths,
They said bad luck for Ireland,
The match will be a route,
Welter picked out one of them,
And he thought he might elope,
But he changed his mind completely,
After a booze up with the Pope.

And now we're back from Italy,
The Galleon boys and me,
We're being treated now for sunburn,
And too much duty free,
But we won't be at home for long,
We're invited very soon,
To go to the quare one's Christening,
In outer Cameroon.