[Intro]
[muffled four-on-the-floor, as if through a hotel wall]

[Verse 1]
[deadpan, half-spoken]
Walked the whole Dingle Way till my legs were soggy turf
Stone circles, castles, whiskey — I got my money's worth
Last night in Ireland, Harcourt Street, a kettle and a bed
Lights out by eleven like a man with sense in his head
Then the water glass goes walking down the bedside shelf
And Ireland's number one nightclub introduces itself

[Chorus]
(See yas in Coppers!) I can see yas from my bed
(See yas in Coppers!) I can hear yas through the glass
(See yas in Coppers!) I can feel yas in my fillings
(See yas in Coppers!) Would yas ever go home

[Verse 2]
They named it for a judge who lived on this same street
Two hundred years dead and he's still keeping me from sleep
The owner was a guard, so there's no one I can ring
There's an All Black in a photo frame, grinning like a king
They're shifting on the wall downstairs, I'm shifting in my sheets
And only one of us is doing it to the beat

[Chorus]
(See yas in Coppers!) I can see yas from my bed
(See yas in Coppers!) I can hear yas through the glass
(See yas in Coppers!) I can feel yas in my fillings
(See yas in Coppers!) Would yas ever go home

[Verse 3]
God bless the double glazing, it's been fighting the good fight
But it's one pane against a nation on a Monday night
Flight's at ten tomorrow night, I'll sleep at thirty thousand feet
So it's good shirt on, and down the stairs, and into the heat
And when the bouncer asks me what I'm doing at his door
I'm lodging a noise complaint — in person — on the floor

[Final Chorus]
[filter opens, full club roar]
(See yas in Coppers!) I can see yas from the bar
(See yas in Coppers!) I can hear yas, and I'm grand
(See yas in Coppers!) I can feel yas in my feet
(See yas in Coppers!) Would yas ever play that again

[Outro]
[club music cuts out]
Back upstairs, half two, the last song dies, a silence like a prayer
Then the back door bangs, and a man with bags of empties takes the air
[glass bottles smashing into metal bins, irregular rhythm]
Every bag a cymbal, every bin a kick drum
Bins at three, the gulls at five, the plane at ten
See yas in Coppers
[Fade Out]