Words: Bob Asprin
Music: "Rosin the Beau"
Well, some people say that we're pirates.
We're outlaws with blasters and swords.
But we've found a new life here on Dorsai;
The last of the old Mongol Horde.
Chorus: On Neuland they say that we're devils.
On Venus and Harmony, too.
But on Dorsai we're called the Irregulars;
A swamp-crawling, night-fighting crew.
We never did care much for marching,
Close order is not for our crew.
Just light a fire under their spaceships, and
The enemy will come to you.
Well, you shouldn't go drunk into battle;
A rule that's undoubtedly true.
But our crew always feels more like fighting with
A squeeze tube of Tullamore Dew.
Well, one time the men of Descartes,
Touched down and moved into our swamp.
'Till twenty-four half-drunk Irregulars,
Racked hob on the whole blooming lot.
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