When I was a little boy, my mother used to tell.
Stories from the great green island, I know them all too well.
She told me ‘bout a wealthy man, no bigger than a child.
She told me ‘bout the little man, rich, fierce and wild.
It feels like it was yesterday, when she used to say.
«If you ever see a leprechaun, try to catch him straight away.
Find him where the rainbow ends, a treasure is hidden there.
But you better catch him first, cause only he knows where».
What happened to the Irish fairytales
The truth only brings me tears
There's no gold at the end of the rainbow
Just a bunch of fucking queers
What happened to the Irish fairytales
The truth only brings me tears
There's no gold at the end of the rainbow
Just a bunch of fucking queers
Fields full of shamrock, used to be in my dreams.
I dreamt I would pick 'em all, and see what real luck means.
When growing up I realized, that in my head lies had been stuck.
Cause there is no gold, no little man, and no damn shamrock luck
What happened to the Irish fairytales
The truth only brings me tears
There's no gold at the end of the rainbow
Just a bunch of fucking queers
What happened to the Irish fairytales
The truth only brings me tears
There's no gold at the end of the rainbow
Just a bunch of fucking queers
Disgusted is a little word, compared to what I feel
When I saw through the hoax that St. Patrick's not for real
The great green fields, are nowhere to be seen
The green island will never be, what it once has been
What happened to the Irish fairytales
The truth only brings me tears
There's no gold at the end of the rainbow
Just a bunch of fucking queers
What happened to the Irish fairytales
The truth only brings me tears
There's no gold at the end of the rainbow
Just a bunch of fucking queers