They say in the heart o' the isle, Lies a treasure worth your while. A casing filled by practised hands, Born of the soul of Ireland. With pork and fat and hearty oats, With salt and thyme to suit each taste. The finest fare the island boasts. Not one good scrap we dare to waste. The onions give a savoury bite, The flavour rising rich and strong. It sings within the pan, done right, And feeds us as it's passed along. A slice of bread, a stout so dark, This meal ignites the Irish heart! No Irishman would e'er deny The taste of life, our hearty prize. What pan and flame together fry: A piece of heaven — in our eyes. A song of old for kith and kin: Long live our pride — the Irish Puddin'! Now gather round and hear this true: A tale in which a conflict brews, Of love and pride and different views, And what a good Puddin' can do! A pair of lovers, young and free, But Father's gaze is cold and hard. A lad who's come across the sea? "I'll have no stranger in me yard!" But soon enough the feast is spread, The old man barks: "Now take a bite!" At first the young one hesitates, But each bite 'wakens appetite. So now you see why on this isle, We win all hearts with Puddin's guile. A humble dish, a master's art, Has won the day and claimed the heart. In pan and flame together fries A piece of heaven — in our eyes. A song of old for kith and kin: Long live our pride — the Irish Puddin'! How simple is this meal we share. A single bite is all it takes. The Irish heart proudly laid bare, When body and the spirit wake. No Irishman would e'er deny The taste of life, our hearty prize. What pan and flame together fry: A piece of heaven — in our eyes. A song of old for kith and kin: Long live our pride — the Irish Puddin'! An Irishman will always know, What feeds the heart and makes it whole: The Irish Puddin'! The Irish Puddin'!
