It doesn’t matter if your pot of gold is empty And if you’re out of luck and out of friends And if every day seems a mistake And you can see no changes But they will come some day March 17 will rise again and we all know how this story ends Now we’ll break the rules and no one else is safe It doesn’t matter if your horseshoe is damn rusty And if everything is dark and there ain’t no green Today all those things are such a foolish We can dance in dublin and wake up in here April was a month that we can leave behind And maybe may brought no better tide In june i was so sad i can’t describe I guess the same shit came in july August was a so fucked up month September i felt so alone October i wrote depressive songs November i screamed turn it up! December santa stood at home January ain’t no white crow February i was so doped i thought it would be the end of my world
