Someone once dared me to grow a moustache.
I didn't know how but I gave it a bash.
My tache started growing in three shades of green.
With traces of white and gold in between.

I said that maybe I'd done something wrong,
As big a mistake as my Frankenstein song.
I started again, and this time I read
A book about all types of hair on your head.

The book said that ants might be causing the colour.
Or else it's dry rot. It's not a sea gull or
A fire in my car -- of that I was glad.
Fires would be bad in the car I then had.

So I set about killing all ants in the house.
I beat every ant but I lost to a mouse.
I took from the house every inch of dry rot.
My painting of monkeys in hats, I did not.

This kept me busy for most of a week.
I found an old coin, a tin can and a leak.
Sure that no unforeseen error I'd made,
I looked in the mirror and that's where I stayed.

I know that this story's already been told,
But I had a moustache of green, white and gold.
I looked at the book on the desk by the wall,
And no, it wasn't about hair at all.

(Yeah, slight confession about all that.
I know it was in the papers and everything,
and Gerry Adams wanted to shake my hand,
but I just dyed it green,
with the white and gold too,
but mostly green.
It was just a joke,
but it sort of got out of hand.
Sorry about that).