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Now, I was born, as folks will say,
In a house out around the bay,
That's my story son, my bloodline's genuine,
My accent upholds my claim,
But I'm just a throwback,
I'm halfway to town,
I'm a broken oar against the tide,
I'm just a pasty-faced White Bayman from Kilbride,
Don't step on my native side.
Out here you grow up strange and wild,
You get molested as a child,
And you bury all that pain, you erase that stain,
With what passes for a smile,
Till you finally break out,
With that angry stride,
Crush the past with all your might,
I'm just a pasty-faced White Bayman from Kilbride,
Don't step on my native side.
You get raised in Catholic school,
Where you're taught to be a fool,
And you get saints preserved, lose every ounce of nerve,
Primed for the martyr pool,
And you can fall back (back on your knees),
Take it all in stride,
But then you've got to sleep at night,
I'm just a pasty-faced White Bayman from Kilbride,
Don't step on my native side.
