- Harold Finch: Mr. Reese, have you managed to secure an invitation to the wedding?
- John Reese: I did. Phoebe's sister, Janna, invited me. Turns out I'm her type.
- Harold Finch: [Finch is at a wedding, with the pretense of being an estranged uncle from Ireland. At the wedding reception, he is brought onstage, and asked to sing with his- "Uncle Ralph's"- renowned voice. Finch faces the waiting audience and is petrified. He speaks, with an Irish accent...] Does no one remember that I suffer from stage fright?
- Will O'Brien: [the groom says to the audience] Just being modest, Uncle Ralph!
- Harold Finch: Uh...
- Will O'Brien: A little liquid courage will cure that.
- [Pushes a glass of liquor into Finch's hand]
- Will O'Brien: Don't be nervous, just sing, whatever comes to mind.
- Harold Finch: Good lad. Cheers.
- [Finch downs the whole glass. Long silence. The audience looks on]
- Harold Finch: Um...
- [Approaches the mic. Long silence. He haltingly starts to speak lyrics, with the cadence of an Irish protest song - the actual song's original melody is unrecognizable]
- Harold Finch: We've got the right to choose it. / And / there ain't no way we'll lose it. / This is our life, this is our song. // We'll fight the powers that be, just / don't pick our destiny, 'cause / you don't know us. You don't belong.
- Root: [whispers to Reese] How come Harry never sings to us?
- John Reese: He doesn't sing to you?
- Harold Finch: [the chorus:] We're not gonna take it / No, we ain't gonna take it / We're not gonna take it anymore.