And we're off to Dublin and the Green
(FUCK THE QUEEN!)
With our helmets a'glistening in the sun
(FUCK HER SON!)
Where the bayonets slash and the rifles crash
To the echo of a Thompson gun
It isn't about the lyrics or the sentiment behind them. It's about the particular camaraderie that appears when you're with a group of drunk rowdies who all know the words.