The day that Michael Flatley waltzed into our village square
The skies turned black and grey
Teeth like razors, eyes of gold, a kerchief ‘round his hair
The women sighed and swayed
Co-opting a thousand years of culture and heritage,
This so-called lord of dance
But this bastard’s reign must surely end with blood and carnage,
We’ll rid him from this land

We’ll hang him from the highest tree
And break both of his fucking knees!
Drag the bastard through the rain
And kick him in the face again!

For ten long years he profited from our sweat and tears
And drank the alehouse dry
He forced himself upon a girl against her bloody will
Then left her there to die
So grab your pitchforks, feathers and tar, he’s drinking at McCaffey’s bar,
Be sure it will be his last
For without hands a man can’t steal, with gouged-out eyes he can’t conceal
The lies behind the mask

We’ll hang him from the highest tree
And break both of his fucking knees!
Drag the bastard through the rain
And kick him in the face again!

We’ll hang him from the highest tree
And break both of his fucking knees!
Drag the bastard through the rain
And kick him in the face again!


Lyrics submitted by concreteblues

The Death of Michael Flatley song meanings
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