Peter: But there is one thing, Mickey, anda knocked up my Mom and never called her again.
Mickey: Yeah, so what?

Peter: So what!? So let's dance!

Oh, he doesn't smell like Irish Spring,

And he never taught me anything,

But still I slap my chest and sing...

Of My Drunken Irish Dad.

Oh, his face looks like a railroad map,

And he never shuts his freakin' trap...

Mickey: But all the ladies catch the clap

From your Drunken Irish Dad.

Peter: Ask a Hennessey, Tennessey, Morrison, Shaughnessy, Riordan, and Rooney...

They'll tell anda the same

McNulty, Mulrooney, and Carter and Clooney

All feel the same mixture of pride and of shame.

Mickey: Finnegan, Hannigan, Kelly, and Flanagan.

Look to the ground when their dad passes by

Cafferty, Rafferty, Joyce and O'Lafferty, fight for his honor and then start to cry!

(Dance sequence)

Both: Oh, we Irish lads are all infirm,

And our moods infect us like a germ

'Cause we're all the spawn of a pickled sperm...

Mickey: And we don't tan well either.

All: ...From a Drunken Irish Dad!!