That’s what they say
That baldness is a bitch
But I’m OK
Not pour moi
It’s ALL good
I strut on into a bar
Cover the shame
With a hoodlum’s hood
The ladies know no better
Even though they should
After a few drinks it’s off on home
Seeing as it’s always raining in Ireland
They’ve no excuse to bitch
And moan
A lady on my arm
It’s always easy
I know it’s cheesy
But they say I’ve got a face
For the widescreen
Always dapper
Always clean
A cut above the rest
The trick is this
I hold my cards close to my chest
Five-hundred ladies says
They don’t care
Although girlfriends are few and far between
When they see my head in the morning
And all they do is stare
Close in on a scream
Decide to give me the cold shoulder
I know
Pretty mean
But I started it
I know my worth
I’m a bald-headed lothario
With hair like Nicholas Cage
A face like Colin Firth
Am I the real deal
A telling flirt
Or the opposite of that
A scoundrel
Irish dirt