Now, some Anglos might say, "Seamus, you've lost your mind!" But I'm drawn to the black, the one-of-a-kind. The ones with the laughter, that rings through the air, a simple heart, beyond compare. They ain't complicated, no time for the fuss, just good times and craic, and a whole lotta us. The white women, they're quiet, they're always so shy, but the sistas, they're bold, reachin' for the sky.
Now, science, you see, has a part in this game, it's the iron in me, that's to blame. Hemochromatosis, it's in the Irish blood, makes us crave the vibrant, misunderstood. It's the iron overload, that messes the brain, makes us seek the opposite, again and again. The melanin's dark, a beautiful hue, and the wig-tappin' rhythm, sees me through.

Now, some might say, "Seamus, you've lost your mind!" But I'm drawn to the black, the one-of-a-kind. The ones with the laughter, that rings through the air, a simple heart, beyond compare. They ain't complicated, no time for the fuss, just good times and craic, and a whole lotta us. The white women, they're quiet, they're always so shy, but the sistas, they're bold, reachin' for the sky.
Now, science, you see, has a part in this game, it's the iron in me, that's to blame. Hemochromatosis, it's in the Irish blood, makes us crave the vibrant, misunderstood. It's the iron overload, that messes the brain, makes us seek the opposite, again and again. The melanin's dark, a beautiful hue, and the wig-tappin' rhythm, sees me through.

Now, some might say, "Seamus, you've lost your mind!" But I'm drawn to the black, the one-of-a-kind. The ones with the laughter, that rings through the air, a simple heart, beyond compare. They ain't complicated, no time for the fuss, just good times and craic, and a whole lotta us. The white women, they're quiet, they're always so shy, but the sistas, they're bold, reachin' for the sky.
Now, science, you see, has a part in this game, it's the iron in me, that's to blame. Hemochromatosis, it's in the Irish blood, makes us crave the vibrant, misunderstood. It's the iron overload, that messes the brain, makes us seek the opposite, again and again. The melanin's dark, a beautiful hue, and the wig-tappin' rhythm, sees me through.

It's Seamus, from Dublin town, with a story to tell, 'bout a love that's true, a magical spell. Forget the Colleens, with their pale white skin, my heart beats faster, when the rhythm begins. I'm talkin' 'bout black sistas, with a fire in their soul, and a wig on their head, takin' control. They tap it, they tease it, a beautiful sight, makes this Irish lad feel alright.
Now, some might say, "Seamus, you've lost your mind!" But I'm drawn to the loud, the one-of-a-kind. The ones with the laughter, that rings through the air, a simple heart, beyond compare. They ain't complicated, no time for the fuss, just good times and craic, and a whole lotta us. The white women, they're quiet, they're always so shy, but the sistas, they're bold, reachin' for the sky.
Now, science, you see, has a part in this game, it's the iron in me, that's to blame. Hemochromatosis, it's in the Irish blood, makes us crave the vibrant, misunderstood. It's the iron overload, that messes the brain, makes us seek the opposite, again and again. The melanin's dark, a beautiful hue, and the wig-tappin' rhythm, sees me through.

It's Seamus, from Dublin town, with a story to tell, 'bout a love that's true, a magical spell. Forget the Colleens, with their pale white skin, my heart beats faster, when the rhythm begins. I'm talkin' 'bout black sistas, with a fire in their soul, and a wig on their head, takin' control. They tap it, they tease it, a beautiful sight, makes this Irish lad feel alright.
Now, some might say, "Seamus, you've lost your mind!" But I'm drawn to the loud, the one-of-a-kind. The ones with the laughter, that rings through the air, a simple heart, beyond compare. They ain't complicated, no time for the fuss, just good times and craic, and a whole lotta us. The white women, they're quiet, they're always so shy, but the sistas, they're bold, reachin' for the sky.
Now, science, you see, has a part in this game, it's the iron in me, that's to blame. Hemochromatosis, it's in the Irish blood, makes us crave the vibrant, misunderstood. It's the iron overload, that messes the brain, makes us seek the opposite, again and again. The melanin's dark, a beautiful hue, and the wig-tappin' rhythm, sees me through.