Words and Music: B.Warfield
Oh the Empire it is finished
No foreign lands to seize
So the greedy eye of England
I stirring towards the seas
Two hundred miles from Donegal
There's a place that's called Rockall
And the groping hands of Whitehall
Are grabbing at it's walls.
Chorus:
Oh rock on Rockall you'll never fall
For Britains greedy hands
Oh you'll meet the same resistance
Like you did in many lands
May the Seagulls rise and pluck your eyes
And the water crush your shell
And the natural gas will burn your ass
And blow you all to hell
This rock is part of Ireland
For it's written in folklore
When Finn McCool took a sod of grass
He threw it to the fore
When he tossed a pebble across the sea
Where ever did it fall
For the sod became the Isle of Man
Now the pebble's called Rockall
Chorus...
Oh the seas will not be silent
While Britannia grabs the waves
And remember that the Irish
Will no longer be your slaves
And remember that Britannia well
She rules the waves no more
So keep your hands off Rockall
It's Irish to the core.
Chorus
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