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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