{"id":1295,"date":"2008-03-17T12:00:00","date_gmt":"2008-03-17T11:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/beerbellyband.com\/big-strong-man-my-brother-sylveste"},"modified":"2008-03-17T12:00:00","modified_gmt":"2008-03-17T11:00:00","slug":"big-strong-man-my-brother-sylveste","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/beerbellyband.com\/en\/big-strong-man-my-brother-sylveste\/","title":{"rendered":"Big Strong Man (My Brother Sylveste)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Irish traditional song lyrics \u2014 collected by Beer Belly Band.<\/em><\/p>\n

Have you heard about the big strong man?
\nHe lived in a caravan.
\nHave you heard about the Jeffrey Johnson fight?
\nOh, Lord what a hell of a fight.
\nYou can take all of the heavyweights you\u2019ve got.
\nWe\u2019ve got a lad that can beat the whole lot.
\nHe used to ring bells in the belfry,
\nNow he\u2019s gonna fight Jack Demspey.<\/p>\n

That was my brother Sylvest\u2019 (What\u2019s he got?)
\nA row of forty medals on his chest (big chest!)
\nHe killed fifty bad men in the west; he knows no rest.
\nThink of a man, hells\u2019 fire, don\u2019t push, just shove,
\nPlenty of room for you and me.
\nHe\u2019s got an arm like a leg (a ladies\u2019 leg!)
\nAnd a punch that would sink a battleship (big ship!)
\nIt takes all of the Army and the Navy to put the wind up Sylvest\u2019.<\/p>\n

Now, he thought he\u2019d take a trip to Italy.
\nHe thought that he\u2019d go by sea.
\nHe dove off the harbor in New York,
\nAnd swam like a great big shark.
\nHe saw the Lusitania in distress.
\nHe put the Lusitania on his chest.
\nHe drank all of the water in the sea,
\nAnd he walked all the way to Italy.<\/p>\n

He thought he take a trip to old Japan.
\nThey turned out a big brass band.
\nYou can take all of the instruments you\u2019ve got,
\nWe got a lad that can play the whole lot.
\nAnd the old church bells will ring (Hells bells!)
\nThe old church choir will sing (Hells fire!)
\nThey all turned out to say farewell to my big brother Sylvest\u2019.<\/p>\n

Bog Down in the Valley
\nO-ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o
\nO-ro the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o<\/p>\n

And in that bog there was a tree, a rare tree, a rattlin’ tree
\nWith the tree in the bog
\nAnd the bog down in the valley-o.<\/p>\n

Now on that tree there was a limb, a rare limb, a rattlin’ limb
\nWith the limb on the tree and the tree in the bog
\nAnd the bog down in the valley-o.<\/p>\n

Now on that limb there was a branch, a rare branch, a rattlin’ branch
\nWith the branch on the limb and the limb on the tree and the tree in the bog
\nAnd the bog down in the valley-o.<\/p>\n

(Repeat, adding a line each time)
\nNow on that branch there was a twig, a rare twig, a rattlin’ twig…..<\/p>\n

Now on that twig there was a nest, a rare nest, a rattlin’ nest…..<\/p>\n

Now in that nest there was an egg , a rare egg, a rattlin’ egg…..<\/p>\n

Now in that egg there was a bird, a rare bird, a rattlin’ bird…..<\/p>\n

Now on that bird there was a feather, a rare feather, a rattlin’ feather …..<\/p>\n

Now on that feather there was a flea, a rare flea, a rattlin’ flea …..<\/p>\n

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BUILDING UP AND TEARING ENGLAND DOWN
\nOh I’ve won the hero’s name with McAlpine and Costain
\nWith Fitzpatrick Murphy, Ash and Wimpy’s gang
\nI’ve off and on the road on me way to draw the dole
\nWhen there’s nothing left to do for Johnny Lang
\nAnd I used to think that God made the mixer pick and hod
\nSo that Paddy might know hell above the ground
\nI’ve had gangers big and tough tell me tear it all old gruff
\nWhen you’re building up and tearing England down<\/p>\n

In a tunnel under ground a young Limerick man was found
\nHe was built into the New Victoria Line
\nWhen the boneless gang and past sticking from the concrete cast
\nWas face of little Charlie Joe Devine
\nAnd the ganger man McGurk said big Paddy hates the work
\nWhen the gas main blew and he flew off the ground
\nOh they swore he said don’t slack I’ll not be long before I’m back
\nKeep on building up and tearing England down<\/p>\n

I was on the shuddering jam on the day that Jack McCann
\nGot the better of his stammer in a week
\nHe fell from the shuddering jam when that poor old stuttering man
\nHe was never ever more inclined to speak
\nAnd I saw old Balls McCall from a high fly over fall
\nInto a concrete mixer spinning round
\nThough it wasn’t his intent he got a fine head of cement
\nWhen he was building up and tearing England down<\/p>\n

I remember Carrier Jack with his hod upon his back
\nHow he swore one day he’d set the world on fire
\nBut his face they’ve never seen since his shovel it cut clean
\nThrough the middle of the big high tension wires
\nFor no more like Robin Hood will we roam through Crickelwood
\nOr dance around the pubs in Camden town
\nOh but let no man complain sure no Pat can die in vain
\nWhen he’s building up and tearing England down<\/p>\n

So come all you Navvy’s bold do not think that English gold
\nIs just waiting to be taken from each sod
\nFor the likes of you and me will never get an OBE
\nOr a knighthood for good service to the hod
\nIf the concrete master race were to keep you in your place
\nAnd a ganger man to kick you to the ground
\nIf you ever try to take part of what the bosses make
\nWhen you’re building up and tearing England down<\/p>\n

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A BUNCH OF THYME
\nCome all ye maidens young and fair
\nAll you that are blooming in your prime
\nAlways beware and keep your garden fair
\nLet no man steal away your thyme<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nFor thyme it is a precious thing
\nAnd thyme brings all things to my mind
\nOh thyme with all its labors, along with all its joys
\nThyme brings all things to my mind<\/p>\n

Once I had a bunch of thyme
\nI thought it never would decay
\nBut on came a lusty sailor, who chanced to pass that way
\nHe stole my bunch of thyme away<\/p>\n

The sailor gave to me a rose
\nA rose that never would decay
\nHe gave it to me to keep me well minded
\nOf when he stole my thyme away<\/p>\n

Come all ye maidens young and fair
\nAll you that are blooming in your prime
\nAlways beware and keep your garden fair
\nLet no man steal away your thyme<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nFor thyme it is a precious thing
\nAnd thyme brings all things to my mind
\nOh thyme with all its labors, along with all its joys
\nThyme brings all things to my mind<\/p>\n

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BURGHEAD SANDS
\nCome again, come again ye Burghead men
\nAnd sail wi’ the mornin’ tide
\nCome again, come again through the wind and the rain
\nTo the place where you’ll always bide<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nAnd you know if stand of the Burghead sand
\nAll the years be ten times ten
\nYou’ll aye be a slave to the ocean wave
\nTill your back on the sea once again<\/p>\n

When the fishing’s done, the harvest won
\nTake oot your boat tae Skye
\nTae the harbor gate, where the woman wait
\nTill you’re safely by their side<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Till your back on the sea once again
\nBorn in the wee of the great North Sea
\nWhere the weepin’ willows laughed
\nMarried at birth to the Moray Firth
\nAnd the deck o’ a fishin’ craft<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Till your back on the sea once again
\nCome again, come again ye Burghead men
\nTae the Broch(?) where you’ll aye belong
\nTo the Dewar’s(?) Well, the Claive’s smell
\nAnd the Oyster’s catchers song<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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BURKE AND HARE
\nChorus:
\nBurke and Hare were a terrible pair, their deeds were beyond belief
\nThey worked underground in Edinburgh town, the cruelest kind of thief
\nAye they stole the lives of the city’s poor, the city’s waifs and strays
\nGot them drunk and tied them tae a bunk and smothered the lives away<\/p>\n

And in the Tanner’s Close in the old Westport, those rottens had their lair
\nAnd manys a wretch from there was fetched in a box up to Surgeon’s Square
\nFor ten pounds each was the priced they reached for the contents of every box
\nAnd they denied folks lives to satisfy knives of anatomist Dr. Knox
\nChorus<\/p>\n

So sixteen souls departed this world at the hands of the villainous crew
\n“Well it sure beats work”, says lazy bugger Burke and Hare took a similar view
\nBut there evil ways and their drunken days, very soon were cut short
\nFor they grew to smart and let down their guard and very soon they were caught
\nChorus<\/p>\n

Ah, but William Hare he took a terrible scare, he turned super-grass with glee
\nHe snitched on mate and left him to his fate, while he got away Scot free
\nBut William Burke he dangled and jerked as the hangman ended his life
\nAnd in a final twist that famed anatomist cut him up with his surgeon’s knife
\nChorus<\/p>\n

For they stole the lives of the city’s poor, the city’s waifs and strays
\nGot them drunk and tied them tae a bunk and smothered the lives away
\nThe swine, smothered the lives away<\/p>\n

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BURKE AND HARE [2]
\nTae help the folk in medical school, word is passed around
\nA body nae mair than ten days auld will bring in fourteen pound.
\nIt’s a terrible thing, but truth tae say\u2014in this age o’ greed
\nA man’s worth little when he’s alive, but plenty when he’s deid.<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nAn’ it’s doon the close an’ up the stair a but-an’-ben wi’ Burke and Hare
\nBurke’s the butcher, Hare’s the thief and Knox is the man that buys the beef.<\/p>\n

So in the dark of mony a nicht, when a’ guid folks are sleeping
\nBy the dyke and in the kirkyard come twa shadows creeping.
\nAn’ mony a man that’s cauld richt thru an’ safely hid away
\nHe never thocht it wisnae the last he’d see the licht o’day.<\/p>\n

But no contented wi’ howkin’ deid, a ploy that aye gets harder
\nThey’ve started pickin’ healthy folk, and then committin’ murder.
\nAn’ a’ arood the countryside creeps a fearsome pair\u2014
\nBe ye man or wife or wean, ye’re nae safe from Burke and Hare.<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Men and women, auld and young, the sickly and the hale
\nWere murdered, packed up and sent off tae Knox’s human sale.
\nThat man o’ skill wi’ subjects warm was frequently supplied,
\nNor did he question where or how the person brought had died.<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

But noo auld Reekie can sleep at last; these two will trade nae mair
\nIt’s the gallows tree for William Burke, and a pauper’s grave for Hare.
\nIt’s a terrible thing, but truth tae say\u2014in this age o’ greed
\nA man’s worth little when he’s alive, but plenty when he’s deid.<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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THE BUTTON PUSHER
\nChorus:
\nI am the man, the well fed man, in charge of the terrible knob
\nThe most pleasing thing about it, it’s almost a permanent job
\nWhen the Atom war is over and the world is split in three
\nA consolation I’ve got, well maybe it’s not,
\nThere’ll be nobody left but me<\/p>\n

I sit at me desk in Washington in charge of this great machine
\nMore vicious than Adolf Hitler, more deadly than strychnine
\nAnd in the evening after a tiring day just to give meself laugh
\nI hit the button a playful belt and I listen for a blast<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

If Brezhnev starts his nonsense and makes a nasty smell
\nWith a wink and a nod from Nixon I’ll blast them all to hell
\nAnd as for that fella Castro\u2014him with his sugar cane
\nHe needn’t hide behind his whiskers\u2014I’ll get him just same<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

If me wife denies me conjugal rights or me breakfast is sour
\nFrom eight to nine in the morning you’re for nervous hour
\nThe Button being so terribly close it’s really a dreadful joke
\nI’ll part with arse as I go past and we’ll all go up in smoke<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Now I’m thinking of joining the Army, the Army that bans the bomb
\nWe take up a large collection and I’ll donate me thumb
\nFor without it I am helpless and that’s the way to be
\nYou don’t have to kill the whole bloody to make the people free<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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BACK IN DURHAM GAOL
\nI’m a poor man as honest as they come I never was a thief until they caught me,
\nThe judge said he swore me hands were red, no matter how I pled they found me guilty,
\nThere was no bail, I’m off to Durham Gaol, I’m going and nothing now can save me,
\nCalamities they always come in threes, and that’s how many months it was they gave me.<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nAnd it’s no never in the livelong day,
\nWill you find me back in Durham Gaol.
\nAnd it’s no never in the livelong day,
\nWill you find me back in Durham Gaol.<\/p>\n

‘Twas a gray day when first I went astray, the divil take the man who came to tempt me,
\nFor in no time me life was one of crime, and now you see the trouble that its got me.
\nThere are four bare walls at which stare, me food and me lodgings they are paid for,
\nYou can’t see the turning of the key, to hear the turning that is all you wait for.<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Oh it’s sad to say that here I to stay, with only iron bars around to lean on,
\nI get a bath to dampen down me wrath, though it’s barely just a month ago I got one,
\nGod knows I need a suit of clothes, you’d think they could have found a one to fit me
\nMe boots would be fine if they were both a nine, I’m walking like a fall of stones had hit me<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

And I’m sure that me mother’s heart would break, to see me in a state of such repentance,
\nI’m glad she’s not around to see, and I’ll be out before she finished her sentence,
\nThe sun will shine, I’ll leave it all behind, knowing I’ve done me time and done me duty,
\nThen out of the gate on the narrow and the straight, to the place where I’ve buried all the booty.<\/p>\n

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BACK TO TUAM
\nSeven years since I took the road and caught the magic bus aboard
\nIn the city there’s worlds of wonderful stuff I’ve taken some trips and capture the buzz
\nBut I’ve had enough of this crowded place, too many people and not enough space
\nI’ve got some songs I’d like to put down; I hear Kenny’s gone 24 track now<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nAs true as God I’m telling you straight, I’m on my way and I just can’t wait
\nWill you air the bed in my old room, cause I’m goin’ back to Tuam<\/p>\n

I miss the walking up the street, every few yards there’s someone to meet
\nWill you go for a pint or I meet have two, the porter tastes great in the afternoon
\nMeself and herself have broken up, I know you’ll that it’s all for luck
\nTime is a healer it heals all wounds, I hope it starts on mine real soon<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nAs true as God I’m telling you straight, I’m on my way and I just can’t wait
\nWill you air the bed in my old room, cause I’m goin’ back to Tuam<\/p>\n

They moved the cross; it must feel lakes, walking around the square
\nSomeone told me that Joe Bags skirted, he’s gone to God knows where<\/p>\n

Are the football men still standing, discussing last Sunday’s match
\nIs the rustic vaults still the same, is there music in the thatch<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nAs true as God I’m telling you straight, I’m on the road and I just can’t wait
\nWill you air the bed in my old room, cause I’m goin’ back to Tuam
\nI’m goin’ back, me bags are packed, I’m goin’ back to Tuam<\/p>\n

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THE BALENA
\nThe noble fleet of whalers came sailing from Dundee
\nWell manned by British sailors to work upon the sea
\nOn the western ocean passage none with them can compare
\nFor there’s not a ship could make the trip as Balena I declare<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nThe wind is on the quarter and her engine working free
\nAnd there’s not another whaler that sails out from Dundee
\nCan beat the ould Balena she’ll need no trial run
\nFor we challenge all both great and small from Dundee to St. John<\/p>\n

It happened on Tuesday three days out of Dundee
\nThe Gale took off the long boat and a couple of men you see
\nThat took away our bulwark out stanchions and our rails
\nAnd left the ould Balena a frothing in the gales<\/p>\n

There’s a new built Terra Nova she’s a model with no doubt
\nThere’s the “Arctic” and the “Aurora” you’ve heard so much about
\nThere’s Jacklin’s model mail-boat the terror of the sea
\nCouldn’t beat the ould Balena boys on a passage from Dundee<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Bold Jacklin cut the canvas and fairly raised the steam
\nAnd Captain Guy with Erin boy goes ploughing through the stream
\nBut Millan says the “Eskimo” could beat the bloomin’ lot
\nBut to beat the ould Balena boys they’d find it rather hot<\/p>\n

And now that we have landed boys where the rum is mighty cheap
\nWe’ll drink success to Captain Guy for getting o’er the deep
\nAnd health to all our sweethearts and to our wives so fair
\nNot another ship could make that trip but the Balena I declare<\/p>\n

Chorus
\nChorus<\/p>\n

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THE BALLAD OF BALLINAMORE
\nLeitrim is a very funny place sir a strange and troubled land
\nAll the boys are in the IRA sir all the women in Cumann na Ban
\nEvery tractor has a Nicky Kelly sticker displayed for all to see
\nSure it was no wonder that the Gardai made a blunder
\nSez your man from RTE<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nEvery bird upon my word is singing “I’m a rebel” sir up in Mohill sir
\nEvery hen indeed is laying hand grenades I do declare sir in Dromahair sir
\nEvery crock of a Leitrim cock is longing to be free
\nEven sheep are advising there’ll be another risin’
\nSez your man from RTE<\/p>\n

Today Tonight went to Ballinamore sir they were briefed by the Gardai
\nOn the video they showed to them the Provos ‘atin curry and drinking tea
\nThe were all wearin’ Russian balaclavas each carried an RPG
\nBritish scalps around their tummy pockets full of stolen money
\nSez your man from RTE<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Leitrim is seething with sedition it’s Sinn Fein through and through
\nAll the task force have joined the local unit the post office is the GHQ
\nThey’ve a racetrack underground for training Shergar
\n“No comment” is all they’ll say to me
\nSubversion here is bubblin’ oh please take me back to Dublin
\nSez your man from RTE<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Oh the other day I traveled down the road sir and spied in a an old boreen
\nSuch a bunch of Fenians there sir dressed in orange white and green
\nThe IRA sent me a time bomb in the mail
\nSo be Jasus and begorrah I’ll be gettin’ out tomorrow
\nSez your man from RTE<\/p>\n

Chorus
\nChorus<\/p>\n

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THE BALLAD OF BILLY REID
\nI’ll sing you a song of a terrible wrong,
\nWhen the flags they flew at half-mast
\nAnd a man he lay dead, he’d been riddled with lead
\nHe died on the streets of Belfast<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nOh, the radio said, “There’s another shot dead,
\nAnd he died with a gun in his hand.”
\nBut they didn’t why Billy Reid had to die
\nHe died to free Ireland<\/p>\n

It happened one day when the bold IRA
\nWent out to fight for their land
\nWith an old Thompson gun, they’d the troops on the run
\nAnd returning to home was their plan<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

When returning the gun, Billy met British Huns
\nAnd when the fight had begun
\nHis position was dire and his gun wouldn’t fire
\nAnd he died with the old Thompson Gun<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Although he lay dead, he was kicked in the head
\nBy the hair they dragged him around
\nThey still fear him yet, and they’ll never forget
\nHow brave Billy Reid stood his ground<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

If you think he was right, come and join in the fight
\nAnd help to free Belfast
\nFor the blood that he shed, and although he lay dead
\nIn our minds his memory will last<\/p>\n

Chorus
\nChorus<\/p>\n

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THE BALLAD OF JACK DOOLIN
\nThere was a wild colonial boy Jack Doolin was his name
\nOf poor but honest parents he was born near Castlemane
\nHe was his father’s only son his mother’s pride and joy
\nAnd dearly did his parents love their wild colonial boy
\nAt the early of sixteen years he left his native home
\nAnd round Australia’s sunny shores a bushranger did roam
\nHe robbed the wealthy squatters their stock he did destroy
\nA terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nSo come along me hearty’s we’ll roam the mountains high
\nTogether we will plunder and together we will die
\nWe’ll wander over valleys and gallop over plains
\nAnd scorn to live in slavery bound down in iron chains<\/p>\n

In ’61 this daring youth commenced his wild career
\nWith a heart that knew no danger, no foeman did he fear
\nHe held up the Beechwood mail coach and robbed judge McEvoy
\nWho trembling told give up his gold to the wild colonial boy
\nWell he bade the judge good morning and told him to beware
\nHe never robbed an honest who acted on the square
\nBut a man who’d robbed his mother of her son and only joy
\nHe could expect no mercy from the wild colonial boy
\nChorus<\/p>\n

One day as he was riding the mountainside along
\nListening to the kookaburra’s pleasant laughing song
\nHe spied three mounted troopers Kelly, Davis and Fitzroy
\nWith a warrant for the capture of the wild colonial boy
\nSurrender now Jack Doolin you see we’re three to one
\nSurrender in the King’s high name you are a highwayman
\nJack drew a pistol from his belt and waved it like a toy
\nI’ll fight but not surrender cried the wild colonial boy
\nChorus<\/p>\n

He fired at trooper Kelly that brought him to the ground
\nAnd in return from Davis he received his fatal wound
\nAll shattered through the jaw he lay still firing at Fitzroy
\nAnd that’s the way they captured him the wild colonial boy
\nChorus<\/p>\n

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THE BALLAD OF JAMES LARKIN
\nIn Dublin City in 1913 the boss was rich and the poor were slaves
\nThe women working, the children starving, then on came Larkin like a mighty wave
\nThe workmen cringed when the boss man thundered, seventy hours was his weekly chore
\nHe asked for little and less was granted, lest gettin’ little, then he’d ask for more<\/p>\n

But on came Larkin in 1913, a mighty man with a mighty tongue
\nThe voice of labor, the voice of justice, and he was gifted and he was young
\nGod sent Larkin in 1913, a labor man with a union tongue
\nHe raised the workers and gave them courage; he was their hero, the worker’s son<\/p>\n

It was in August the boss man told us, no union man for him could work
\nWe stood by Larkin and told the boss man, we’d fight or die, but we would not shirk
\nEight months we fought and eight months we starved; we stood by Larkin through thick and thin
\nBut food less homes and the crying of children, they broke our hearts, we could not win<\/p>\n

When Larkin left us we seemed defeated. The night was black for the working man,
\nBut on came Connolly with hope and counsel. His motto was that we’d rise again
\nIn 1916 in Dublin city, the English soldiers they burnt our town
\nThey shelled the buildings, and shot our leaders; the harp was buried beneath the crown<\/p>\n

They shot McDermott and Pearse and Plunkett; they shot McDonagh and Clarke the brave.
\nFrom bleak Kilmainham the took their bodies to Arbour Hill to a quicklime game
\nBut last of all of the seven leaders I sing the praise of James Connolly
\nThe voice of labor, the voice of justice, he gave his life that men might be free<\/p>\n

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THE BALLAD OF LYNCH’S ARMY
\nJack Lynch came out from Dublin and he had 10,000 men
\nHe marched them up to the border and he marched back again
\nBut such an armored column lads the like was never seen
\n500 mounted bicycles all-wearing of the green<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nLet him go let him tarry let him sink or let him swim
\nHe does give a damn for us nor we a damn for him
\nHe sits on his ass in Dublin and hope he does enjoy
\nSelling out his country for he’s England’s little boy<\/p>\n

Well, the Special Branch in are something for to see
\nThey’ll crawl out of the castle to inform on you and me
\nBut the day is coming soon me boys you’ll hear those rifles bark
\nThe only snakes in Ireland will be in the Phoenix Park<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Well, Jack where were you last August with all your merry men
\nAh were you on the Falls Road or in the Bogside then
\nNo you were phoning London and squealing all you knew
\nOn every Irish rebel that would hold a gun it’s true<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

When we finally get our freedom we’ll make them understand
\nScrap Fianna Fail Gestapo and all their rotten band
\nBut we want a true Republic with the workers in command
\nThat won’t betray their countrymen of sell them out of hand<\/p>\n

Chorus
\nChorus<\/p>\n

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THE BALLAD OF RONNIE’S MARE
\nYou can sing of all your sport’n hero’s like Mr. McGrath and the rest
\nBut there’s a horse in the county of Wicklow that’s beaten all of the best
\nThe slowest humper, the lowest jumper and great for a stroll ’round the park<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nThe servant lasses, the upper classes and daughters of millionaires
\nThey all appear from far and near for a ride on Ronnie’s mare
\nFor a ride on Ronnie Drew’s mare<\/p>\n

In Greystone’s town on a Sunday morning a crowd will always appear
\nTo catch a glimpse of the famous mare they call the horse of the year
\nShe’s the best at racin’, but sees no disgracin’
\nPulling a big old milk cart
\nChorus<\/p>\n

In the Barnaby bar boys talked of the horse show and they said she ought to be showed
\nShe was tutored and trained by the two Evans boys on the grass by the side of the road
\nThough she won up in Dublin without any troublin’,
\nNext day she was back in the cart
\nChorus<\/p>\n

Joe Sweeny the punter suggested one day they should enter her in for a race
\nSo all was arranged, Billy Fox would be jockey and New Castle would be the place
\nBut the boys all agreed it, even if she succeeded,
\nShe’d go back to deliverin’ milk
\nChorus<\/p>\n

Well, the boys where there to lay out their ready’s and cheer the horse past the post
\nBut when Fox had a look at the competition, he turned as white as a ghost
\nWe’ll have some hassle to beat Willy Castle
\nSays Ronnie “for jeez sake!”
\nChorus<\/p>\n

The race it was tough, but the mare she was flyin’ they knew that she couldn’t loose
\nBut in the midst of the celebrations arrived some tragic news
\nIn her finest hour all the milk had gone sour
\nSo now she was out of a job
\nChorus<\/p>\n

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BALLAD OF ST. ANNE’S REEL
\nHe was stranded in some tiny town of fair Prince Edward Island
\nWaiting for a ship to come and find him
\nA one-horse place, a friendly face, some coffee and a tiny trace
\nOf fiddling in the distant far behind him<\/p>\n

A dime across the counter then, a shy hello, a brand new friend
\nWalk along the street in the wintry weather
\nA yellow light, an open door, a welcome friend, there’s room for more
\nAnd then they’re standing there inside together<\/p>\n

He said I’ve heard that tune some where before, but I can’t remember when
\nWas it on some other friendly shore, did I hear it in the wind
\nWas it written on the sky above, I think I heard from someone I love
\nBut I’ve never heard it sound so sweet since then<\/p>\n

And now his feet begin to tap, a little boy says, ‘I’ll take your hat’
\nAnd he’s caught up in the magic of his smile
\nAnd leap the heart within him went, when off across the floor he’s sent
\nHis clumsy body graceful as a child<\/p>\n

He said there’s magic in the fiddler’s arm, there’s magic in the town
\nThere’s magic in the dancer’s feet and the way they put them down
\nSmiling people everywhere, boots and ribbons, locks of hair
\nLaughter, old blue suits, and Easter gowns<\/p>\n

The sailor’s gone, the room is bare, the old piano’s sitting there
\nSomeone’s hat’s left hanging on the rack
\nThe empty chairs, the wooden floors, that feels the touch of shoes no more
\nWaiting for the dancers to come back<\/p>\n

And the fiddle’s in the closet of some daughter of the town
\nThe strings are broke, the bow is gone, and the case is button down
\nBut sometime on December nights, when the air is cold and the wind is right
\nThere’s a melody comes passing through the town<\/p>\n

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THE BANDON CAR
\nCome all you lads and lassies and listen to my sad tale
\nAnd I’ll tell to you what happened to me one night down in Kinsale
\nIt being the summer season I found myself a job
\nSinging ballads in a bar to make a couple of bob
\nI’d been doing a bit of a stint, me boys down in the Folk House bar
\nLittle did I know in town that night was the Bandon car<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nOh, they’re baggin’ ’em in Berehaven, Kilbrittain and Kinsale
\nThe Fivemile and Belgooly, the story’s much the same
\nNo matter where you come from, no matter where you are
\nIf you’re a man that likes his porter, beware of the Bandon Car!<\/p>\n

And when the gig was over and me gear all packed away
\nSays I, I’ll have one for the road, then leave without delay
\nBut alas! That was the one I fear that caused me my downfall
\nBut how was I to know me fate? Sure I didn’t have a clue at all
\nWhen I had donned me cap and coat and drank down my last jar
\nThe barman’s final comment was, “Watch out for the Bandon Car.”<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

I was just about to leave for home when much to my dismay
\nA Garda car with flashing lights came up and barred me way
\nSays he, have you drink taken? Says I, a small amount
\nSays he, would that be five or six? Says I, I never count
\nHe made me blow into the bag, saying, tonight you’ve gone too far!
\nAnd to the station I was taken in the back of the Bandon Car<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Now the doctor he was sent for, looking tired and distressed
\nThrough bleary eyes he asked me, would I mind a urine test
\nSays I, I like things private when I answer nature’s call
\nBut that request was soon shot down I had to bare it all
\nOh! what a terrible indignation to take a thing so far
\nAnd I wished that they could go to hell, along with th’ oul’ Bandon Car<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Now I’ve been law-abidin’ since the day that I was born
\nBut this terrible legislation! I view it now with scorn
\nThere’s trickies and there’s hooflers who breaks laws every day
\nBut they can’t be caught easily and they get clean away
\nI’ve tried every means I know to avoid the social scar
\nBut there is no way you’ll get fair play from the boys in the Bandon Car<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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THE BANKS OF NEWFOUNDLAND
\nOh you Western Ocean labourers, I would have you all beware,
\nThat when you’re aboard of a packet-ship, no dungaree jumpers wear,
\nBut have a big monkey jacket always at your command,
\nAnd think of the cold Nor’westers on the Banks of the Newfoundland.<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nSo we’ll rub her round and scrub her round with holystone and sand,
\nAnd say farewell to the Virgin Rocks on the Banks of the Newfoundland.<\/p>\n

As I lay in my bunk one night a-dreaming all alone,
\nI dreamt I was in Liverpool, way up in Marylebone,
\nWith my true love beside of me, and a jug of ale in hand,
\nWhen I woke quite brokenhearted on the Banks of Newfoundland. <\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

We had one Lynch from Ballinahinch, Jimmy Murphy and Mike Moore;
\nIt was in the winter of sixty-two, those sea-boys suffered sore,
\nFor they’d pawned their clothes in Liverpool, and sold them out of hand,
\nNot thinking of the cold Nor’westers on the Banks of Newfoundland.<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

We had one female passenger, bridget Riley was her name,
\nTo her I promised marriage and on me she had a claim.
\nShe tore up her flannel petticoats to make mittens for our hands,
\nFor she couldn’t see the sea-boys freeze on the Banks of Newfoundland.<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

And now we’re off Sandy Hook, my boys, and the land’s all covered with snow.
\nThe tug-boat will take our hawser and for New York we will tow;
\nAnd when we arrive at the Black Ball dock, the boys and girls there will stand,
\nWe’ll bid adieu to the packet-ships and the Banks of Newfoundland.<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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THE BANKS OF THE ROSES
\nChorus:
\nOn the Banks of the Roses me love and I sat down
\nAnd I took out me fiddle for to play me love a tune
\nIn the middle of the tune, oh she sighed and she said
\nO-ro Johnny lovely Johnny don’t ya leave me<\/p>\n

When I was a young man I heard me father say
\nThat he’d rather see me dead and buried in the clay
\nSooner than be married to any runaway
\nBy the lovely sweet banks of the roses<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

And then I am no runaway and soon I’ll let them know
\nThat I can take the bottle or can leave it alone
\nIf her daddy doesn’t like it he can keep his daughter at home
\nAnd you Johnny will go rovin’ with another<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

And when I get married twill be in the month of May
\nWhen the leaves they are green and the meadows they are gay
\nAnd me and me true love we’ll sit an and sport and play
\nBy the lovely sweet banks of the roses<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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BANNOCKBURN
\nEdward of England northwards did ride
\nWill yon Scotsman fight was the question that he cried
\nWill yon Scotsman fight, aye in darkness or daylight
\nWe shall die or be free cried the Bruce<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nWe shall die or be free cried the Bruce
\nWe shall die or be free cried the Bruce
\nWill yon Scotsman fight, aye in darkness or daylight
\nWe shall die or be free cried the Bruce<\/p>\n

A hundred thousand Sassenachs had rallied to their King
\nAnd Edward King of Scots was the boast that he did sing
\nNo English King of Scots no our freedom’s nearly bought
\nWe shall die or be free cried the Bruce
\nChorus
\nThe brave and mighty Bruce to his countrymen did turn
\nHe said stand fast and true when you reach the Bannockburn
\nStand fast and true for this land belongs to you
\nWe shall die or be free cried the Bruce<\/p>\n

Chorus
\nNow long-bows of England at forty-thousand force
\nDeadly and grim fell upon the Scottish gorse
\nDeadly and grim fell still we sang our battle hymn
\nWe shall die or be free cried the Bruce<\/p>\n

Chorus
\nThe Bannockburn is won the Sassenachs are fled
\nNothing now remains but the dying and the dead
\nNothing now remains but a Scottish Monarch reigns
\nWe shall die or be free cried the Bruce<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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THE BANTRY GIRLS LAMENT
\nOh who will plough the fields now and who will sell the corn
\nAnd who will watch the sheep now and keep them neatly shorn
\nAnd the stack that’s in the haggard un-threshed it will remain
\nSince Johnny went a roving all in the wars of Spain<\/p>\n

And the girls from the Bawnage in sorrow may retire
\nAnd the piper and his bellows go home and blow his fire
\nFor Johnny, lovely Johnny he’s sailing o’er the main
\nHe’s along with other patriots to fight the King of Spain<\/p>\n

And the boys will surely miss him when Moneymore comes round
\nAnd they grieve that their brave Captain is nowhere to be found
\nAnd the peelers must stand idle against their will and grain
\nFor the gallant boy who gave ’em work now peels the King of Spain<\/p>\n

And at wake or hurling matches your likes we’ll seldom see
\nTill you come home again to us astroirin gheal mo chroi
\nAnd won’t you trouble the buckeens who show us great disdain
\nBecause our are not as bright as those you’ll meet in Spain<\/p>\n

And if cruel fate does not permit our Johnny to return
\nHis heavy loss, we Bantry girls will never cease to mourn
\nWe’ll resign ourselves to our sad loss and die in grief and pain
\nSince Johnny died for freedom’s sake in the foreign land of Spain<\/p>\n

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THE BARLEY MOW
\nOh, here’s good luck to the pint pot, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nJolly good luck to the pint pot, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nOh, the pint pot, half a pint, gill, half a gill, quarter gill, nipper kin and a round bowl
\nHere’s good luck, good luck, good luck to the Barley mow<\/p>\n

Oh, here’s good luck to the half gallon, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nJolly good luck to the half gallon, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nOh, the half gallon, pint pot, etc\u2026<\/p>\n

Oh, here’s good luck to the gallon, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nJolly good luck to the gallon, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nOh, the gallon, half gallon, etc\u2026<\/p>\n

Oh, here’s good luck to the half barrel, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nJolly good luck to the half barrel, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nOh, the half barrel, gallon, etc\u2026<\/p>\n

Oh, here’s good luck to the barrel, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nJolly good luck to the barrel, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nOh, the barrel, half barrel, etc\u2026<\/p>\n

Oh, here’s good luck to the daughter, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nJolly good luck to the daughter, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nOh, the daughter, barrel, etc\u2026<\/p>\n

Oh, here’s good luck to the landlord, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nJolly good luck to the landlord, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nOh, the landlord, daughter, etc\u2026<\/p>\n

Oh, here’s good luck to the brewer, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nJolly good luck to the brewer, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nOh, the brewer, landlord, etc\u2026<\/p>\n

Oh, here’s good luck to the company, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nJolly good luck to the company, Good luck to the Barley mow
\nOh, the company, brewer, etc\u2026<\/p>\n

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THE BARNYARDS O’ DELGATY
\nAs I cam in tae Turra market, Turra market for tae fee
\nIt’s I fell in wi’ a wealthy fairmer, The barnyards o’ Delgaty<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nLin-ten addie too rin addie, lin-ten addie toorin ae
\nLin-ten low rin, low rin, low rin, the barnyards o’ Delgaty<\/p>\n

He promised me the ae best pair, that was in a’ the kintra roon
\nFan I gae hame tae the Barnyards, There was naething there but skin and bone
\nChorus<\/p>\n

The auld black horse sat on his rump, The auld white mare lay on her wime
\nFor a’ that I would hup and crack, They wouldna rise at yokin’ time
\nChorus<\/p>\n

Fan I gang tae the kirk on Sunday, Mony’s the bonny lass I see
\nSittin’ by her faither’s side, An’ winkin’ ower the pews at me
\nChorus<\/p>\n

Oh, I can drink and no be drunken, An’ I can fecht an’ no be slain
\nAn’ I can lie wi’ anither man lass, An’ aye be welcome tae my ain
\nChorus<\/p>\n

My caun’le noo it is burnt oot, It’s lo we is fairly on the wane
\nSae fare ye weel ye Barnyards, Ye’ll never me here again
\nChorus<\/p>\n

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THE BARRAS
\nThere’s a spot in Glasgow City that’s well ken’t the whole world o’er
\nIt’s mare famous than the Mona Lisa’s face
\nIt is visited by royalty and rouges frae every airt
\nEverybody kens the barras is the place
\nDid you ken St. Peter lost the keys to yon big pearly gates
\nAnd he thought that he’d get flung oot o’ his job
\nBut a clever angel telt him, ach St. Peter dinnae greet
\nYou can buy one at the barras for a bob<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nOh the barras, oh the barras, there’s no in Rome or Paris
\nYou’ll have tae go tae Glasgow’s Gallowgate
\nThey sell tickets tae the moon, and a return for half-a-crown
\nAnd five bob guarantees a first class seat<\/p>\n

You’ve heard how Samson lost his strength, Delilah cut his hair
\nHe was left as weak and baldy as a wean
\nSo he traveled o’er to Scotland, to the barras for a cure
\nAnd he soon was strong and hairy once again
\nOne day a Frenchman noticed that the Eiffel Tower was gone
\nAnd the president when notified grew pale
\nSo he called oot all his soldiers and they hunted high and low
\nTill they found it at the barras up for sale<\/p>\n

When the Romans came tae Scotland, many donkeys years ago
\nThey got nae further than the Gallowgate
\nFor the lads who ran the Barras swapped them souvenirs for swords
\nThen the fly wee Glasgow keelies had them bate (beat)<\/p>\n

In a school nae far frae Partick Cross the teacher asked the class
\nTell me what do you know about the missing link
\nThen a wee lad in the front row shot his hand up in the air
\nYou will find one at the Barras, sir, I think<\/p>\n

When oor Prince Charlie had tae flee away frae Scotia’s shores
\nSeek refuge far across the friendly main
\nFor the tears ran streaming frae his eyes, hushed words he did speak
\nAch, I love to see the Barras once again
\nSo before I close my story let me give you some advice
\nIf you’re after something cheap or second-hand
\nTake a trip up to the barras for there’s none that can compare
\nTae the things they sell in Glasgow’s barrowland<\/p>\n

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THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE
\nIt fell aboot the Lama’s tide when Muir men won the day
\nThe dowty Earl o’ Douglas rade in tae England tae catch him a prey
\nHe has chosen the Lindsy’s licht with them the Gordon’s gade
\nThe Earl o’ Fife with vowed and strife and Sir Hugh Montgomery
\nFirst they took Northumberland and there to Bambershire
\nThen on tae dale they burnt it hale and set it all on fire
\nThen he marched up tae New Castle he raid it roond aboot
\nWho was the Laird of this castle and was the Lady oot<\/p>\n

Up then spake Laird Percy fair and oh but he spake high
\nI am the Laird o’ this castle my wife’s the lady gay
\nIf thou art the Laird o’ this castle sae weel it pleases me
\nFor ere I cross the border fairs en o’ us shall dee
\nI shall stay at Otterbourne while ye shall welcome me
\nYet come ye not in three days time first lord then I’ll call ye
\nOh I will come proud Percy said by the licht o’ loonley dee
\nI’ll wait ye there Lord Douglas said my pledge I give tae thee<\/p>\n

He belted en his good braed saird in tae the field he ran
\nBut he forgot the helmet good that should he kept his brains
\nWhen Percy wa’ the Douglas met I what he was frew frame
\nHe swacked their sairds aye sair they swad till blood ran doon like rain
\nPercy wa’ his good braed saird and good tae sharply wound
\nHas cut the Douglas on the brood till they fell upon the groond
\nThe wound was deep he’ fain would sleep right by the bracken tree
\nHe’s laid him doon all wounded sair beside the lily reeds<\/p>\n

The moon was clear the day drew near ‘the spears and flinders flew
\nAnd monys the gallant English man that day the Scotsman slew
\nThe Gordon’s gird in English blood they steeped their hose and shoen
\nThe Lindsay’s flew like fire aboot until the day was done
\nThen Percy and Montgomery met with all the fog a’tween
\nThey swapped blaws and aye the swad till the blood ran doon between
\nWe shall not yield tae lord or loon nor shall ye yield tae me
\nBut yield ye tae yon Brackenbush beside the lily reed<\/p>\n

I’ll not yield tae Brackenbush nor will I tae a fire
\nBut I would yield tae Earl Douglas or tae Hugh Montgomery
\nWhen he found out it was Montgomery he stuck his sword in the ground
\nSaid Hugh he was a courteous nicht and took him by the hand
\nFor he had dreamed a dreary dream a fore that fateful day
\nHe saw a deed man win the field a deed man doon he lay
\nAnd battle was done at Otterbourne at the breakin’ o’ the day
\nLord Douglas was buried at the Brackenbush and Percy does not away<\/p>\n

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Black Watch
\nYou’ve heard about the B-men the cruel RUC
\nYou’ve heard about the Black and Tans in bygone history
\nBut theres another regiment the devil calls his own
\nTheyre known as the Black Watch commisioned by the throne<\/p>\n

Strolling down the Falls Road with riot guns and gas
\nTerrorising women as they’re coming out of mass
\nA bunch of Scottish critters we never will forget
\nThank God we know the IRA sure arent beaten yet<\/p>\n

These soldiers come from Scotland a place you all know well
\nFrom the hardest part of Glasgow the teddy boys do dwell
\nThey’re given a British uniform they’re given a British gun
\nThey joined a British regiment to have themselves some fun<\/p>\n

When I grow up and marry and have a little son
\nIll tell him of the regiment the terrible things they’ve done
\nAnd when that he grows older becomes a man like me
\nHe’ll become a volunteer and set old Ireland free<\/p>\n

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The Black and Tan gun.
\n It was down in the town of old Bantry,
\n Where most of the fighting was done,
\n It was there that a young Irish soldier,
\n Was shot by a Black-and-Tan gun.<\/p>\n

As he raised himslef up to his elbow,
\n As the blood from his wounds ran red,
\n He turned to his comrades beside him,
\n And these are the words he said:<\/p>\n

“Won`t you bury me out on the mountains,
\n So that I can see where the battle was won?”
\n So they buried him out on the mountains,
\n `Neath a cross that stood facing the sun.<\/p>\n

They wrote: “Here lies a true Irish soldier,
\n Who was shot by a Black-and-Tan gun,”
\n And now we are back in old Dublin, our victory over and won,
\n We think of our comrades we buried under God`s rising sun.<\/p>\n

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The bold Black and Tan
\n Says Lloyd-George to Macpherson, “l give you the sack,
\n To uphold law and order you haven’t the knack,
\n I’ll send over Greenwood, a much stronger man,
\n And fill up the Green Isle with the bold Black and Tan.”<\/p>\n

He sent them all over to pillage and loot
\n And burn down the houses, the inmates to shoot .
\n ” To re-conquer Ireland, he said, is my plan
\n With Macready and Co. and his bold Black and Tan.”<\/p>\n

The town of Balbriggan they’ve burned to the ground
\n While bullets Like hailstones were whizzing around;
\n And women left homeless by this evil clan.
\n They’ve waged war on the children, the bold Black and Tan.<\/p>\n

From Dublin to Cork and from Thurles to Mayo
\n Lies a trail of destruction wherever they go;
\n With England to help and fierce passions to fan,
\n She must feel bloody proud of her bold Black and Tan.<\/p>\n

Ah, then not by the terrors of England’s foul horde,
\n For ne’er could a nation be ruled by the sword;
\n For our country we’ll have yet in spite of her plan
\n Or ten times the number of bold Black and Tan.<\/p>\n

We defeated Conscription in spite of their threats,
\n And we’re going to defeat old Lloyd-George and his pets;
\n For Ireland and Freedom we’re here to a man,
\n And we’ll humble the pride of the bold Black and Tan.<\/p>\n

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Bold Robert Emmet
\n The struggle is over, the boys are defeated,
\n Old Ireland’s surrounded with sadness and gloom,
\n We were defeated and shamefuIIy treated,
\n And I, Robert Emmet, awaiting my doom.<\/p>\n

Hung, drawn and quartered, sure that was my sentence,
\n But soon I will show them no coward am I.
\n My crime is the love of the land I was born in,
\n A hero I lived and a hero I’ll die.<\/p>\n

(Chorus)
\n Bold Robert Emmet, the darling of Ireland,
\n Bold Robert Emmet will die with a smile,
\n Farewell companions both loyal and daring,
\n I’ll lay down my life for the Emerald Isle.<\/p>\n

The barque lay at anchor awaiting to bring me
\n Over the billows to the land of the free;
\n But I must see my sweetheart for I know she will cheer me,
\n And with her I will sail far over the sea.<\/p>\n

But I was arrested and cast into prison,
\n Tried as a traitor, a rebel, a spy;
\n But no man can call me a knave or a coward,
\n A hero I lived and a hero I’ll die.<\/p>\n

(Chorus repeat)<\/p>\n

Hark! I the bell’s tolling, I well know its meaning,
\n My poor heart tells me it is my death knell;
\n In come the clergy, the warder is leading,
\n I have no friends here to bid me farewell.
\n Goodbye, old Ireland, my parents and sweetheart,
\n Companions in arms to forget you must try;
\n I am proud of the honour, it was only my duty-
\n A hero I lived and a hero I’ll die.<\/p>\n

(Chorus repeat)<\/p>\n

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Boolavogue
\n At Boolavogue as the sun was setting,
\n O`er the bright may meadows of Shelmalier,
\n A rebel hand set the heather blazing,
\n and brought the neighbours from far and near;<\/p>\n

Then Father Murphy from old Kilcormack
\n Spurred up the rock with a warning cry:
\n “Arm! Arm!” he cried, “For I`ve come to lead you,
\n for Ireland`s freedom we`ll fight or die!”<\/p>\n

He lead us on against the coming soldiers,
\n And the cowardly Yeomen we put to flight,
\n `Twas at the Harrow the boys of Wexford
\n Showed Bookey`s regiment how men could fight;<\/p>\n

Look out for hirelings, King George of England,
\n Search every kingdom where breathes a slave,
\n For Father Murphy of County Wexford,
\n Sweeps o`er the land like a mighty wave.<\/p>\n

We took Camolin and Enniscorthy,
\n And Wexford storming drove out our foes,
\n `Twas at Slieve Coilte our pikes were reeking
\n With the crimson blood of the beaten Yeos.<\/p>\n

At Tubberneering and Ballyellis,
\n Full many a Hessian lay in his gore,
\n Ah! Father Murphy had aid come over,
\n The Green Flag floated from shore to shore!<\/p>\n

At Vinegar Hill, O`er the pleasant Slaney,<\/p>\n

Our heroes vainly stood back to back,
\n and the Yeos at Tullow took Father Murphy,
\n and burnt his body upon a rack.<\/p>\n

God grant you glory, brave Father Murphy,
\n And open Heaven to all your men,
\n the cause that called you may call tomorrow,
\n in another fight for the Green again.<\/p>\n

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Boys of Kilmichael
\n On the twentieth day of November,
\n the day that the tans left Macroom.
\n they were loaded in two crossley tenders
\n not knowing that they’d meet their doom
\n But when they came to Kilmichael
\n they suddnely came to a stop
\n For they met with the boys of the column
\n Who made a clean sweep of the lot.<\/p>\n

Then over the hills went the echo
\n the peal of the rifle and gun
\n The flames from the lorries gave tidings
\n That the boys from Kilmichael had won.<\/p>\n

So here’s to the boys of Kilmichael
\n Those brave lads so gallant and true
\n Who fought ‘neath the green flag of Erin
\n And conquered the red, white and blue.<\/p>\n

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BARRY’S COLUMN
\n From East to West, from North to South,
\n They tried to hunt the column out
\n But the tans were forced to go without
\n The boys of Barry’s Column<\/p>\n

In armoured cars they came to stay,
\n And wipe the Irish cowards away
\n But oh, the lovely holiday
\n Was stopped by Barry’s Column<\/p>\n

(chorus)<\/p>\n

Oh but isn’t great to see
\n The Tommies and the R.I.C
\n The black and tans and the Staters flee
\n Away from Barry’s Column<\/p>\n

By, George might have some wiley tricks
\n And have the volunteers to fix
\n Yet all his black and tans go sick
\n When they think of Barry’s Column<\/p>\n

His ships all come in red and black,
\n No tanks or war equipment lack
\n Yet o’er the sea, they’ll ne’er get back
\n If caught by Barry’s Column<\/p>\n

[Chorus repeat]<\/p>\n

Along the lonely road they wind
\n Armed in front, and armed behind
\n “We’re sorry, but that bridge is mine”
\n Said the lads of Barry’s Column<\/p>\n

They stopped to rest just for a spell
\n Some hand-grenades upon them fell
\n “Here sort them out among yourselves”
\n Said the lads from Barry’s Column<\/p>\n

[Chorus repeat]<\/p>\n

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Bye Bye Rangers
\nYo ho ho, off we go
\nWhat do you know, it’s nine in a row
\nBye bye Rangers
\nCeltic’s on the ball again, on the way to make it ten
\nBye bye Rangers<\/p>\n

You can talk about your great defenders
\nSing and shout about your No Surrender
\nBut let us give you this wee tip
\nWe’ll be there for the league and the cup
\nRangers bye bye<\/p>\n

Yo ho ho, off we go
\nWhat do you know, it’s nine in a row
\nBye bye Rangers
\nCeltic’s on the ball again, on the way to make it ten
\nBye bye Rangers<\/p>\n

You can talk about your great defenders
\nSing and shout about your No Surrender
\nBut let us give you this wee tip
\nWe’ll be there for the league and the cup
\nRangers bye bye<\/p>\n

But let us give you this wee tip
\nWe’ll be there for the league and the cup
\nRangers bye bye<\/p>\n

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Burke’s Dream
\nSadly but slowly one night in November
\nI laid down my weary head for to repose
\nOn my pillow of straw which I long shall remember
\nI been weary for sleep, I fell into a doze.<\/p>\n

I been tired from working hard down in the foreign prison yard
\nNight brought relief to my sad heart’s should free
\nI’ve been locked in my prison cell, surely an earthly hell
\nI then fell asleep and commenced for to dream<\/p>\n

I dreamed I was sitting on a green hill of Erin
\nWith no hesitating and victory won,
\nSurrounded by comrades, no enemies fearing,
\nBut then was the cry, “Every man to his gun”<\/p>\n

It’s on came the section then; dread not, ye Fenian men;
\nSoon they fell back from their pike’s volunteers
\nI dreamed that I saw our brave noble commander
\nWas mounted on steed and his guard did surrear<\/p>\n

He was brave-trimmed with gold and his bright shining chevrons want
\n‘Twas all dint with sunbeams of freedom that day
\nSlam bang, the cannons slew, lines they were all cut through
\nMen on both sides lay dying and dead<\/p>\n

The green flag went waving high that day beneath the battle sky
\nEveryone there did sing out gloriously
\nEvery man, boy was on oath bound to die that day or stand their ground
\nAnd all from our vengeance the proud Briton fled.<\/p>\n

Slam bang, the cannons slew, lines they were all cut through
\nMen on both sides lay dying and lay dead
\nJump out of your prison bearth, for Irishmen have done their work
\nGod he is with us and old Erin is free.<\/p>\n

I dreamed I was sleeping the night beams around me
\nWhilst pitching their lights upon that bloody plain
\nWhen friends that I once knew in soft sleep reposing
\nLay dead and in their gore. Shall I e’er see them again?<\/p>\n

With joy then I hastened back over the mountain track
\nMy mother she fainted and gave a loud scream
\nSurely when I awoke just as the daylight broke
\nAnd found I was in exile and all but a dream<\/p>\n

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Broad Black Brimmer
\nThere’s a uniform still hanging in what’s known as father’s room
\nA uniform so simple in its style
\nIt has no fancy braid of gold, no hat with feathered plume
\nYet me mother has preserved it all the while
\nOne day she made me try it on, a wish of mine for years
\nIn memory of your father Sean she said
\nAnd when I put the sam brown on, she was smiling through hear tears
\nAs she placed the broad black brimmer on me head<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nIt’s just a broad black brimmer with ribbons frayed and torn
\nfrom the careless whisk of many a mountain breeze
\nAn old trench coat that’s so battle-stained and worn
\nAnd breeches almost threadbare at the knees
\nA sam brown belt with a buckle big and strong
\nAnd a holster that’s been empty many’s a day
\nBut when men claim Ireland’s freedom
\nThe one should choose to lead them
\nWill wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA<\/p>\n

It was the uniform worn by me father year’s ago
\nWhen he reached me mother’s homestead on the run
\nIt was the uniform he wore in that little church below
\nWhen oul Father Mac, he blessed the pair as one
\nAnd after truce and treaty and the parting of the ways
\nHe wore it when he marched out with the rest
\nAnd when they bore his body down on that rugged heather braes
\nThey placed the broad black brimmer on his chest<\/p>\n

Chorus X 2<\/p>\n

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British Army, The
\nWhen I was young I used to be as fine a man as ever you’d see
\nTil the Prince of Wales he said to me: “Come and join the British army”<\/p>\n

Toora loora loora loo, they’re looking for monkeys up at the zoo
\nAnd says I: “If I had a face like you, I’d join the British army”<\/p>\n

Sarah Comden baked a cake, ’twas all for poor oul Slattery’s sake
\nShe threw herself into the lake, pretending she was barmy<\/p>\n

Toora loora loora loo, they’re looking for monkeys up at the zoo
\nAnd says I: “If I had a face like you, I’d join the British army”<\/p>\n

Corporal Daly went away, his wife got in the family way
\nAnd the only thing that she could say, was: “Blame the British army”<\/p>\n

Toora loora loora loo, they’re looking for monkeys up at the zoo
\nAnd says I: “If I had a face like you, I’d join the British army”<\/p>\n

Corporal Kelly’s a terrible drought, just give him a couple of jars of stout
\nAnd he’ll beat the enemy with his mouth and save the British army<\/p>\n

Toora loora loora loo, they’re looking for monkeys up at the zoo
\nAnd says I: “If I had a face like you, I’d join the British army”<\/p>\n

Kilted soldiers wear no drawers, won’t you kindly lend them yours
\nThe rich must always help the poor to save the British army<\/p>\n

Toora loora loora loo, they’re looking for monkeys up at the zoo
\nAnd says I: “If I had a face like you, I’d join the British army”<\/p>\n

When I was young I used to be as fine a man as ever you’d see
\nTil the Prince of Wales he said to me: “Come and join the British army”<\/p>\n

Toora loora loora loo, they’re looking for monkeys up at the zoo
\nAnd says I: “If I had a face like you, I’d join the British army”<\/p>\n

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BLOOD-STAINED BANDAGE
\nA cold May morning was breaking over Dublin’s dreary town
\nSixteen brave men have fallen to the rifles of the crown
\nBecause they loved their country and served it night and day
\nBefore they faced those rifles this is what those boys did say<\/p>\n

Take away the blood-stained bandage from off an Irish brow
\nWe fought and bled for Ireland and will not shirk it now
\nWe have held in her struggle, in answer to her call
\nAnd because we sought to free her we are placed against a wall<\/p>\n

Ned Daly, Heuston, Colbert, Mac Donagh and Mac Bride
\nMac Dermott and the brothers Ceannt, with Clarke and Plunkett died
\nMick Mallin, Pat and Willy Pearse, O’Hanrahan and Kent
\nAnd last of all James Connolly this message to them sent<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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Brave Tom Williams
\nTime goes by and years roll onward,
\nStill a memory I shall keep
\nOf a night in Belfast prison;
\nUnashamedly, I saw men weep.<\/p>\n

For the time was fast approaching,
\nA lad lay sentenced for to die,
\nAnd on the second of September
\nHe goes to meet his God on high.<\/p>\n

Now the cruel blow has fallen,
\nFor Ireland he has given all,
\nHe, who in the flower of manhood
\nProudly answered to her call.<\/p>\n

Brave Tom Williams we salute you,
\nAnd never shall forget.
\nThose who planned your brutal murder,
\nWe vow we’ll make them all regret.<\/p>\n

Here’s a word you Irish soldiers;
\nIf on this path you chance to stray,
\nKeep in memory of that morn
\nWhen Ireland’s cross was proudly borne
\nBy a lad who lies within a prison<\/p>\n

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THE BOYS OF WEXFORD
\nIn comes the captain’s daughter, the captain of the Yeos,
\nSaying; “”Brave United Irish men, We’ll ne’er again be foes.
\nA thousand pounds I’ll bring, If you will fly from home with me,
\nAnd dress myself in man’s attire, and fight for liberty.””<\/p>\n

cho: We are the boys of Wexford, who fought with heart and hand,
\nTo burst in twain the galling chain, and free our native land.<\/p>\n

“I want no gold, my maiden fair, to fly from home with thee;
\nYour shining eyes will be my prize – more dear than gold to me.
\nI want no gold to nerve my arm, to do a true man’s part,
\nTo free my native land I’d gladly give the red drops of my heart.”<\/p>\n

And when we left our cabins, boys, we left with right good will,
\nTo see our friends and neighbours that were at Vinegar Hill!
\nA young man from our Irish ranks, a cannon he let go;
\nHe slapt it into Lord Mountjoy – a tyrant he laid low!<\/p>\n

We bravely fought and conquered at Ross and Wexford town;
\nThree Bullet Gate for years to come will speak for our renown;
\nThrough Walpole’s horse and Walpole’s foot on Tubberneering’s day,
\nDepending on the long, bright pike, we cut our gory way.<\/p>\n

And Oulart’s name shall be their shame, who still we ne’er did fear,
\nFor every man could do his part like Forth and Shelmalier!
\nAnd if for want of leaders, we lost at Vinegar Hill,
\nWe’re ready for another fight, and love our country still!<\/p>\n

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BOYS OF THE OLD BRIGADE
\nWhere are the lads that stood with me
\nwhen histoy was made
\noh gran mo cree I long to see
\nThe boys of the old brigade<\/p>\n

Oh father why are you so sad
\non this bright easter morn
\nwhen Irishmen are proud and glad
\nof the land where they were born
\nOh son I see sad memories
\nof far off distant days
\nwhen being just a boy like you
\nI joined the old brigade<\/p>\n

chor<\/p>\n

In the hills and farms the call to arms
\nwas heard by one and all
\nand from the glens came brave young men
\nto answer Irelands call
\ntwas long ago we faced the foe
\nthe old brigade and me
\nby my side they fought and died
\nthat Ireland might be free<\/p>\n

break chorus<\/p>\n

and now my boy I’ve told you why
\non easter morn I sigh
\nfor I recall my comrades all
\nfrom the dark old days gone by
\nI think of men who fought in glens
\nwith rifles and grenade
\nmay heaven keep the men who sleep
\nfrom the ranks of the old brigade<\/p>\n

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Boys Of Mullachbawn, The
\nOn a Monday morning early
\nAs my wand’ring steps did lead me,
\nDown by a farmer’s station,
\nOf meadow and green lawn,
\nI heard great lamentation
\nThat the wee birds they were makin’
\nSayin’ “We’ll have no more engagements
\nWith the boys of Mullaghbawn.”<\/p>\n

Squire Jackson was un equalled
\nFor honour or for reason,
\nHe never turned a traitor
\nOr betrayed the rights of man,
\nBut now we are endangered
\nBy a vile deceiving stranger
\nWho has ordered deportation
\nFor the Boys of Mullachbawn.<\/p>\n

As those heroes crossed the ocean
\nI’m told the ship in motion
\nDid stand in wild commotion
\nAs if the seas ran dry,
\nThe trout and salmon gaping
\nAs the cuckoo left her station
\nSayin’, “Farewell to lovely Erin
\nAnd the hills of Mullaghbawn.<\/p>\n

To end my lamentation
\nWe are all in consternation
\nFor the want of education
\nI here must end my song;
\nNone cares for recreation
\nSince without consideration
\nWe are sent for transportation
\nFrom the hills of Mullachbawn.<\/p>\n

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The Boys Of Killybegs
\n There are wild and rocky hills, on the coast of Donegal.
\n And their fishermen are hardy brave and free.
\n And the big atlantic swell, is a thing they know right well,
\n As they fight to take a living from the sea.<\/p>\n

CHORUS:-
\n With the pleasant rolling sea, and the herring running free,
\n And the fleet all riding gently through the foam.
\n When the boats are loaded down, there’ll be singing in the town,
\n When the boys of Killybegs come rolling home.<\/p>\n

Now you don your rubber boots, and you’ve got your oilskins on,
\n And you check the gear to see that it’s O.K.
\n And your jumper keeps you warm, because its cold before the dawn,
\n And your ready to begin another day.<\/p>\n

CHORUS<\/p>\n

Well your headed out to sea, and the wind is blowing free,
\n And you cast your nets as rain bgins to fall.
\n But the sun comes riding through, and the clouds will soon roll by,
\n And tonight we’ll maybe take a bumper haul.<\/p>\n

CHORUS<\/p>\n

Sure there’s purple on the hill, but the stream’s down by the shore,
\n And the sun has cast its gold upon the sea.
\n And there’s silver down below, where the herring fishes go,
\n When we catch them, there’ll be gold for you and me.<\/p>\n

CHORUS:-
\n With the pleasant rolling sea, and the herring running free,
\n And the fleet all riding gently through the foam.
\n When the boats are loaded down, there’ll be singing in the town,
\n When the boys of Killybegs come rolling home.<\/p>\n

When the boats are loaded down, there’ll be singing in the town,
\n When the boys of Killybegs come rolling home.<\/p>\n

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Boys From Co. Armagh
\nThere’s one fair county in Ireland
\nWith memory so glorious and grand
\nWhere nature has lavished her bounty
\nOn the orchard of Erins great land
\nI love its cathedral city
\nOnce founded by Patrick so true
\nAnd there in the heart of it’s bosom
\nAre the ashes of Brian Boru<\/p>\n

It’s my own Irish home far across the foam
\nAnd tho’ I’ve often left it in foreign lands to roam
\nNo matter where I wander
\nThrough cities near and far
\nMy heart’s at home in old Ireland
\nIn the county of Armagh<\/p>\n

I’ve travelled the heart of this county
\nThrough Newtown, Forkhill, Crossmaglen
\nAround the gap of Mount Norris
\nAnd home by Blackwater again
\nWhere the girls are so gay and so hearty
\nNone fairer in Erin Go Bragh
\nAh, where are the boys that can court them
\nLike the boys from the county Armagh<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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Born In Ireland
\nI was born here in Ireland
\nBut a foreign land called me away
\nNow I’ve come back to see my hometown
\nAnd my friends of yesterday
\nGone are the old folks friendly faces
\nAnd the friends I used to know
\nSo many things have changed in Ireland
\nSince I left it long ago<\/p>\n

Trees are planted on the farmland
\nThat we used to till and sow
\nStrangers sit around the fireside
\nStrangers names are on the door
\nOther people sing the new songs
\nSongs of which I do not know
\nI remember Mama sang the old songs
\nBack in Ireland long ago<\/p>\n

Lead-break<\/p>\n

When I die please take me back to Ireland
\nWhere I’m free from worry and from care
\nAnd lay me down by Mom and Daddy
\nAnd let me sleep forever there
\nAnd when it’s springtime in the mountains
\nAnd the purple heather glows
\nI’ll be happy here in Ireland
\nAs in the days of long ago<\/p>\n

Rpt. last verse<\/p>\n

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Bold Fenian Men (DOWN BY THE GLENSIDE)
\n‘Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman
\nShe was picking young nettles and she scarce saw me coming
\nI listened a while to the song she was humming
\nGlory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men<\/p>\n

‘Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beaming
\nOn strong manly forms and their eyes with hope gleaming
\nI see them again, sure, in all my daydreaming
\nGlory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.<\/p>\n

When I was a young girl, their marching and drilling
\nAwoke in the glenside sounds awesome and thrilling
\nThey loved poor old Ireland and to die they were willing
\nGlory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.<\/p>\n

Some died on the glenside, some died near a stranger
\nAnd wise men have told us that their cause was a failure
\nThey fought for old Ireland and they never feared danger
\nGlory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men<\/p>\n

I passed on my way, God be praised that I met her
\nBe life long or short, sure I’ll never forget her
\nWe may have brave men, but we’ll never have better
\nGlory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men<\/p>\n

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Bobby Sands
\nMy name is Bobby Sands, MP
\nBorn in the city of Belfast
\nDivided by religion
\nI grew up fast<\/p>\n

I was stabbed and I was spat upon
\nMy family run out of its home
\nThere was only one solution
\nTurn the whole system upside down<\/p>\n

But the system had other ideas
\nI got lifted for carryin’ a gun
\nIn a trial without a jury
\nI got fourteen years from the judge<\/p>\n

Screws beat me regularly
\nBut they couldn’t break me because
\nI had the love of my comrades
\nAnd a burnin’ faith in my Cause<\/p>\n

Still I left a girl outside pregnant
\nMarried her while on remand
\nNow I got a son and a pain in my heart
\nWhen he doesn’t recognize his old man<\/p>\n

Your soul’s on ice oh oh oh oh
\nBut they can’t stop the desire
\nTo break on out oh oh oh oh
\nWhen your heart is on fire<\/p>\n

We wouldn’t wear their convict clothes
\nSo they stripped us to the bone
\nThrew in some threadbare blankets…..<\/p>\n

And when they jeered us about our nakedness
\nAs we slopped out down the halls
\nWe wouldn’t come out of their prison cells
\nWe smeared shit on their prison walls<\/p>\n

Stuck in an eight foot concrete box
\nWith a bible, a mattress
\nAnd the threat of violence every day….<\/p>\n

Can I make it through these fourteen years
\nWill my son remember my face
\nI don’t blame her for the separation
\nBut for Christ’s sake let him keep his name<\/p>\n

Your soul’s on ice oh oh oh oh
\nBut they can’t stop the desire
\nTo break on out oh oh oh oh
\nWhen your heart is on fire<\/p>\n

Five simple things we ask of them
\nFive simple things denied
\nBut Thatcher will not compromise….<\/p>\n

I ask my Mother’s permission
\nTo finally break her heart
\nWe have come to a decision
\n……Hunger Strike<\/p>\n

Three comrades starve behind me
\nI pray to God that my
\nDeath will lead to compromise….<\/p>\n

I can no longer see your face
\nMy bones break through my skin
\nI’m goin’ back to Belfast City
\nYou can’t cage my spirit in<\/p>\n

Your soul’s on ice
\nBut they can’t stop the desire
\nTo break on out
\nWhen your heart is on fire<\/p>\n

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Ballad of Bobby Sands
\nCome gather round me one and all
\nMy song to you I’ll sing,
\nIn memory of a brave young Irishman,
\nWho would not concede defeat,
\nFrom his stand would not retreat.
\nI sing of the gallant Bobby Sands,
\nBobby Sands.
\nYes I sing of the late great Bobby Sands.<\/p>\n

He organised the hunger strike
\nTo win and change, reform,
\nTo stop the evil tyrants in their craze,
\nTo regain the five demands
\nHe took his young life in his hands
\nFor the betterment of comrades in Armagh
\nAnd in the Maze
\nArmagh and the H-Blocks of the Maze.<\/p>\n

They tried to break your spirit
\nBut no way could they succeed,
\nThe phoenix in your heart they tried to quell
\nWith their beatings, degradation,
\nAll in vain totheirfrustration,
\nFor the more they tried, the more you would rebel
\nYou would rebel,
\nWith dignity your principle did swell.<\/p>\n

But freedom was to come to you
\nOn a rain soaked Tuesday morn
\nFrom the heavens tears of patriots were shed
\nWith the joy that you are free
\nTo walk with Tone and Connolly,
\nForever live the name of Bobby Sands
\nWe shall endear
\nYour name, to foe shall always threaten tear.<\/p>\n

So to all you people
\nMy song to you I’ve sung
\nIn memory of a brave young Belfast man
\nWho would not concede defeat,
\nFrom his stand would not retreat.
\nI sing of the gallant Bobby Sands,
\nBobby Sands.
\nYes I sing of the late great Bobby Sands.<\/p>\n

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Back home in Derry
\nIn 1803 we sailed out to sea
\nOut from the sweet town of Derry
\nFor Australia bound if we didn’t all drown
\nAnd the marks of our fetters we carried
\nIn our rusty iron chains we sighed for our weans
\nOur good women we left in sorrow
\nAs the mainsails unfurled, our curses we hurled
\nOn the English, and thoughts of tomorrow<\/p>\n

CHORUS
\nOh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry
\nOh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry<\/p>\n

At the mouth of the Foyle, bid farewell to the soil
\nAs down below decks we were lying
\nO’Doherty screamed, woken out of a dream
\nBy a vision of bold Robert dying
\nThe sun burned cruel as we dished out the gruel
\nDan O’Connor was down with a fever
\nSixty rebels today bound for Botany Bay
\nHow many will meet their reciever<\/p>\n

CHORUS<\/p>\n

I cursed them to hell as her bow fought the swell
\nOur ship danced like a moth in the firelight
\nWhite horse rode high as the devil passed by
\nTaking souls to Hades by twilight
\nFive weeks out to sea, we were now forty-three
\nOur comrades we buried each morning
\nIn our own slime we were lost in a time
\nOf endless night without dawning<\/p>\n

CHORUS<\/p>\n

Van Diemen’s land is a hell for a man
\nTo live out his whole life in slavery
\nWhere the climate is raw and the gun makes the law
\nNeither wind nor rain care for bravery
\nTwenty years have gone by, I’ve ended my bond
\nMy comrades ghosts walk behind me
\nA rebel I came – I’m still the same
\nOn the cold winters night you will find me<\/p>\n

CHORUS<\/p>\n

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Birmingham Six
\nThere were six men in Birmingham
\nIn Guildford there’s four
\nThat were picked up and tortured
\nAnd framed by the law
\nAnd the filth got promotion
\nBut they’re still doing time
\nFor being Irish in the wrong place
\nAnd at the wrong time<\/p>\n

In Ireland they’ll put you away in the Maze
\nIn England they’ll keep you for several long days
\nGod help you if ever you’re caught on these shores
\nAnd the coppers need someone
\nAnd they walk through that door<\/p>\n

You’ll be counting years
\nFirst five, then ten
\nGrowing old in a lonely hell
\nRound the yard and the stinking cell
\nFrom wall to wall, and back again<\/p>\n

A curse on the judges, the coppers and screws
\nWho tortured the innocent, wrongly accused,
\nFor the price of promotion
\nAnd justice to sell
\nMay the judged be their judges when they rot down in hell<\/p>\n

May the whores of the empire lie awake in their beds
\nAnd sweat as they count out the sins on their heads
\nWhile over in Ireland eight more men lie dead
\nKicked down and shot in the back of the head<\/p>\n

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Billy Reid
\nChorus:
\nAll the radio said was another shot dead
\nAnd he died with a gun in his hand
\nBut they never said why Billy Reid had to die
\nCause he died to free Ireland<\/p>\n

1.
\nI’ll sing you a song of a terrible wrong
\nWhen the flags all flew at half mast
\nAnd a man he lay dead he’d been riddled with lead
\nAnd he died on the streets of Belfast<\/p>\n

2.
\nIt happened one day when the bold I.R.A
\nSet out to fight for their land
\nWith an old Thompson gun put the troops on the run
\nAnd return to their home was their plan<\/p>\n

3.
\nWhile returning the guns Billy met British sons
\nAnd when the fight had begun
\nHis position was dire when his gun wouldn’t fire
\nSo he died with that old Thompson gun<\/p>\n

4.
\nAllthough he lay dead he was kicked in the head
\nBy the hair they dragged him around
\nBut the still fear him yet and we can never forget
\nHow brave Billy Reid stood his ground<\/p>\n

5.
\nIf you think he was right come and join in the fight
\nAnd help us to free Belfast
\nFor the blood that he shed and allthough he lay dead
\nIn our hearts his memory will last<\/p>\n

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Big Fellah, The
\nMo chara is mo lao thu!
\nMy friend and my calf
\nIs aisling tr\u00ed n\u00e9allaibh
\nA vision in dream
\nDo deineadh ar\u00e9ir dom
\nWas revealed to me last night
\nIgCorcaigh go d\u00e9anach
\nIn Cork, a late hour,
\nAr leaba im aonar
\nIn my solitary bed<\/p>\n

I remember you back in the GPO with Connolly and Clarke
\nLaughin’ with McDermott through the bullets and the sparks
\nAlways with the smart remark, your eyes blazin’ and blue
\nBut when we needed confidence we always turned to you
\nAnd when they shot our leaders up against Kilmainham wall
\nYou were there beside us in that awful Easter dawn
\nHey, big fellah……….where the hell are you now
\nWhen we need you the most
\nHey, big fellah……….c’mon<\/p>\n

Tabhair dom do l\u00e1mh
\nGive me your hand<\/p>\n

Back on the streets of Dublin when we fought the black and tans
\nYou were there beside us, a towerin’ mighty man
\nAnd God help the informer or the hated English spy
\nBy Jaysus, Mick, you’d crucify them without the blinkin’ of an eye
\nStill you had a heart as soft as the early mornin’ dew
\nEvery widow, whore and orphan could always turn to you
\nWe beat them in the cities and we whipped them in the streets
\nAnd the world hailed Michael Collins, our commander and our chief
\nAnd they sent you off to London to negotiate a deal
\nAnd to gain us a republic, united, boys, and real
\nBut the women and the drink, Mick, they must have got to you
\n‘Cause you came back with a country divided up in two<\/p>\n

We had to turn against you, Mick, there was nothin’ we could do
\n‘Cause we couldn’t betray the republic like Arthur Griffith and you
\nWe fought against each other, two brothers steeped in blood
\nBut I never doubted that your heart was broken in the flood
\nAnd though we had to shoot you down in golden B\u00e9al na Blath
\nI always knew that Ireland lost her greatest son of all<\/p>\n

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Beer Beer Beer
\nA long time ago, way back in history,
\nwhen all there was to drink was nothin but cups of tea.
\nAlong came a man by the name of Charlie Mops,
\nand he invented a wonderful drink and he made it out of hops.<\/p>\n

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
\nand to his praises we shall always sing.
\nLook what he has done for us he’s filled us up with cheer!
\nLord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
\ntiddly beer beer beer.<\/p>\n

The Curtis bar, the James’ Pub, the Hole in the Wall as well
\none thing you can be sure of, its Charlie’s beer they sell
\nso all ye lads a lasses at eleven O’clock ye stop
\nfor five short seconds, remember Charlie Mops 1 2 3 4 5<\/p>\n

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
\nand to his praises we shall always sing.
\nLook what he has done for us he’s filled us up with cheer!
\nLord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
\ntiddly beer beer beer.<\/p>\n

A barrel of malt, a bushel of hops, you stir it around with a stick,
\nthe kind of lubrication to make your engine tick.
\n40 pints of wallop a day will keep away the quacks.
\nIts only eight pence hapenny and one and six in tax, 1 2 3 4 5<\/p>\n

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
\nand to his praises we shall always sing.
\nLook what he has done for us he’s filled us up with cheer!
\nLord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
\ntiddly beer beer beer.<\/p>\n

The Lord bless Charlie Mops!<\/p>\n

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Beautiful Co. Of Meath
\nI’ve travelled many counties in Ireland
\nBut there’s still one I’m longing to see
\nThat’s been part of my homeland
\nAnd it brings back fond memories to me.
\nWhere I wandered alone in my childhood
\nReviewing the sights I once see
\nAs I walk round the parks and the forests,
\nRound the beautiful county of Meath<\/p>\n

Oh, beautiful Meath you’ve got all that I need
\nYour rivers they flow with delight;
\nYour fields are so green, there’s plains to be seen
\nAnd your towns are so gay and so bright
\nFishing down on the buoy, I remember the time
\nYou would think it was all just a dream
\nAnd wherever you roam, there’s no place like home
\nAnd the beautiful county of Meath<\/p>\n

Turn around<\/p>\n

I’ve seen it’s beautiful castles.
\nAnd it’s history I’ve learned so well,
\nI’ve read of the high kings of Tara
\nAnd the wonderful book of Kells
\nAnd the lane still remembers St. Patrick,
\nWe lit a fire for the people to see
\nWhere they brought love and kindness to Ireland
\nAnd the beautiful county of Meath<\/p>\n

Key change<\/p>\n

Last chorus + last line<\/p>\n

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Banna Strand
\n‘Twas on Good Friday morning,
\nAll in the month of May,
\nA German Ship was signalling,
\nBeyond out in the Bay,
\nWe had twenty thousand rifles
\nAll ready for to land,
\nBut no answering signal did come
\nFrom the lonely Banna Strand.<\/p>\n

“No signal answers from the shore”,
\nSir Roger sadly said,
\n“No comrades here to meet me,
\nAlas, they must be dead,
\nBut I must do my duty
\nAnd at once I mean to land”,
\nSo in a small boat rowed ashore
\nOn the lovely Banna Strand.<\/p>\n

Now the R.I.C. were hunting
\nFor Sir Roger high and low,
\nThey found him in McKenna’s fort;
\nSaid they: “You are our foe”,
\nSaid he: “I’m Roger Casement,
\nI came to my native land,
\nI mean to free my countrymen
\nOn the lonely Banna Strand.<\/p>\n

They took Sir Roger prisoner,
\nAnd sailed for London town,
\nAnd in the Tower they laid him,
\nA traitor to the Crown;
\nSaid he “I am no traitor”,
\nBut his trial he had to stand,
\nFor bringing German rifles
\nTo the lonely Banna Strand.<\/p>\n

‘Twas in an English prison
\nThat they led him to his death,
\n“I’m dying for my country”
\nHe said with his last breath,
\nThey buried him in British soil
\nFar from his native land,
\nAnd the wild waves sing his requiem
\nOn the lonely Banna Strand.<\/p>\n

They took Sir Roger home again
\nIn the year of ’65,
\nAnd with his comrades of ’16
\nIn peace and tranquil lies,
\nHis last fond wish, it is fulfilled
\nFor to lie in his native land,
\nAnd the waves will roll in peace again
\nOn the lonely Banna Strand.<\/p>\n

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THE BANKS OF MY OWN LOVELY LEE
\nHow oft do my thoughts in their fancy take flight
\nTo the home of my childhood away,
\nTo the days when each patriot’s vision seem’d bright
\nEre I dreamed that those joys should decay.
\nWhen my heart was as light as the wild winds that blow
\nDown the Mardyke through each elm tree,
\nWhere I sported and play’d ‘neath each green leafy shade
\nOn the banks of my own lovely Lee.<\/p>\n

And then in the springtime oflaughterr and song
\nCan I ever forget the sweet hours?
\nWith the friends of my youth as we rambled along
\n‘Mongst the green mossy banks and wild flowers.
\nThen too, when the evening sun’s sinking to rest
\nSheds its golden light over the sea
\nThe maid with her lover the wild daisies pressed
\nOn the banks of my own lovely Lee
\nThe maid with her lover the wild daisies pressed
\nOn the banks of my own lovely Lee<\/p>\n

‘Tis a beautiful land this dear isle of song
\nIts gems shed their light to the world
\nAnd her faithful sons bore thro’ ages of wrong,
\nThe standard St. Patrick unfurled.
\nOh! would I were there with the friends I love best
\nAnd my fond bosom’s partner with me
\nWe’d roam thy banks over, and when weary we’d rest
\nBy thy waters, my own lovely Lee,
\nWe’d roam thy banks over, and when weary we’d rest
\nBy thy waters, my own lovely Lee,<\/p>\n

Oh what joys should be mine ere this life should decline
\nTo seek shells on thy sea- girdled shore.
\nWhile the steel-feathered eagle, oft splashing the brine
\nBrings longing for freedom once more.
\nOh all that on earth I wish for or crave
\nIs that my last crimson drop be for thee,
\nTo moisten the grass of my forefathers’ grave
\nOn the banks of my own lovely Lee
\nTo moisten the grass of my forefathers’ grave
\nOn the banks of my own lovely Lee.<\/p>\n

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THE BALLAD OF MAIREAD FARREL
\nDo not stand at my grave and weep
\nI am not there I do not sleep
\nDo not stand at my grave and cry
\nWhen Ireland lives i do not die<\/p>\n

A womans place is no at home
\nThe fight for fredom it still goes on
\nI took up my gun until freedoms day
\nI pledged to fight for the I.R.A.<\/p>\n

In Armagh jail I served my time
\nStrip searches were a British crime
\nDegraded me but they could not see
\nI suffered this to see Ireland free<\/p>\n

BREAK<\/p>\n

Gibralta Rock’s the place I died
\nMcCann and Savage were by my side
\nI heard the order loud and shrill
\nOf Thatchers voice, said SHOOT TO KILL<\/p>\n

So do not stand at my grave and weep
\nI am not there, I do not sleep
\nDo not stand at my grave and cry
\nWhen reland lives I do not die
\nWhen Ireland lives I do not die<\/p>\n

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Bachelor’s Walk
\nYou true-born sons of Erin\u00b4s Isle, come listen to my song,
\nMy tale is one of sorrow but I won\u00b4t detail you long,
\nConcerning the murderous outrage that took place in Dublin Town
\nWhen a cowardly regiment was let loose to shoot our people down.<\/p>\n

On the 26th of July, the truth I\u00b4ll tell to you,
\nThe Irish Volunteers all swore their enemies to subdue,
\nThey marched straight out to Howth and soon the people were alarmed
\nWhen they heard the glorious new Pur Irish Volunteers are armed.<\/p>\n

The crowds they all kept cheering on as our brave defenders passed
\nBut their cheers were stopped by an outrage which for some time did last.
\nOur gallant men, the Volunteers, were met in front and rear,
\nBy the King\u00b4s Own Scottish cowards who are doomed for everywhere.<\/p>\n

God save our gallant Captain Judge, the hero of the band
\nWho nearly gave his precious life for the just cause of our land
\nIn spite of terrible injuries and weak from loss of blood,
\nHe fondly hugged his rifle grand the prize of his brotherhood<\/p>\n

Next in the list of heroes is the scout so well renowned,
\nWith the butt end of his rifle felled a Borderer to the ground,
\nHe disarmed him of his weapons and soon made his escape,
\nBy climbing a wall in Fairview, for his young life was at stake.<\/p>\n

The Dublin Police were ordered the Volunteers for to subdue,
\nBut O\u00b4neill and Gleeson boldly replied: “Such a thing we decline to do.
\nFor the fight against our countrymen would on us put a stain,
\nFor we wish to see our native land a Nation Once Again.”<\/p>\n

On Bachelor\u00b4s Walk a scene took place, which I\u00b4m sure had just been planned.
\nFor the cowardly Scottish Borderers turned and fired without command.
\nWith bayonets fixed they charged the crowd and left them in their gore,
\nBut their deeds will be remembered in Irish hearts for evermore.<\/p>\n

God rest the souls of those who sleep apart from earthly sin,
\nIncluding Mrs. Duffy, James Brennan and Patrick Quinn;
\nBut we will yet avenge them and the time will surely come,
\nThat we\u00b4ll make the Scottish Borderers pay for the cowardly deeds they’ve done<\/p>\n

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BELFAST BRIGADE
\nCraig Adams sent the Specials out to shoot the people down
\nHe thought the IRA were dead in dear old Belfast town
\nBut he got a rude awakening with the rifle and grenade
\nWhen he met the 1st Battalion of the Belfast Brigade<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nGlory, glory to old Ireland, glory, glory to this island
\nGlory to the memories of the men who fought and dies
\n“No surrender” is the war cry of the Belfast Brigade<\/p>\n

The soldiers came from Holywood equipped with English guns
\nThey had men by the thousands, ammunition by the ton
\nBut when they got to Belfast they were seriously waylaid
\nBy the Fighting 1st Battalion of the Belfast Brigade<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

We have no ammunition or no armoured tanks to show
\nBut we’re ready to defend ourselves no matter where we go
\nWe’re out for our Republic and to hell with your free state
\n“No surrender” is the war cry of the Belfast Brigade<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Come all ye gallant Irishmen and join the IRA
\nTo strike a blow for freedom when there comes our certain day
\nYou know our countries history and the sacrifice it made
\nCome join the 1st Battalion of the Belfast Brigade<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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BONNIE KELLSWATER
\nHere’s a health to you, bonnie Kellswater
\nFor it’s there you’ll find the pleasures of life
\nAnd it’s there you’ll find fishing and farming
\nAnd a bonnie wee girl for your wife<\/p>\n

On the hills and the glens and the valleys
\nGrows the softest of women so fine
\nAnd the flowers are all dripping with honey
\nThere lives Martha, a true love of mine<\/p>\n

Bonnie Martha, you’re the first girl I courted
\nYou’re the one put my heart in a snare
\nAnd if ever I should lose you to another
\nI will leave my Kellswater so fair<\/p>\n

For this one and that one may court her
\nBut no other can take her from me
\nFor I love her as I love my Kellswater
\nLike the primrose is loved by the bee<\/p>\n

Here’s a health to you, bonnie Kellswater
\nFor it’s there you’ll find the pleasures of life
\nAnd it’s there you’ll find fishing and farming
\nAnd a bonnie wee girl for your wife<\/p>\n

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BOOLAVOGUE (Another version)
\nCome all you warriors and renowned nobles
\nGive ear unto my warlike theme
\nAnd I will sing you how Father Murphy
\nLately aroused from his sleepy dream
\nNeither Julius Cesar nor Alexander
\nNor brave King Arthur could equal him
\nArmies formidable he did conquer
\nThough with two gun men he did begin<\/p>\n

Camolin cavalry he did unhorse them
\nTheir first lieutenant he cut them down
\nWith shattered ranks and with broken columns
\nThey soon returned to Camolin town
\nOn the hill of Oulart he displayed his valour
\nWhere a hundred Corkmen lay on the plain
\nAt Enniscorthy his sword he wielded
\nAnd I hope to see him once more again<\/p>\n

When Enniscorthy became subject to him
\nTwas then to Wexford we marched our men
\nAnd on the Three Rock took up our quarters
\nWaiting for daylight the town to win
\nThe loyal townsmen gave their assistance
\nWe’ll die or conquer they all did say
\nThe yeomen cavalry made no resistance
\nFor on the pavement their corpses lay<\/p>\n

With drums a-beating the town did echo
\nAnd acclamations came from door to door
\nOn the Windmill Hill we pitched our tents
\nAnd we drank like heroes but paid no score
\nOn Carraig Rua for some time we waited
\nAnd next to Gorey we did repair
\nAt Tubberneering we thought no harm
\nThe bloody army was waiting there<\/p>\n

The issue of it was a close engagement
\nWhile on the soldiers we played warlike pranks
\nThro’ sheepwalks, hedgerows and shdy thickets
\nThere were mangled bodies and broken ranks
\nThe shuddering cavalry I can’t forget them
\nWe raised the brushes on their helmets straight
\nThey turned about and they bid for Dublin
\nAs if they ran for a ten-pound plate<\/p>\n

Some crossed Donnybrook and more through Blackrock
\nAnd some up Shankill without wound or flaw
\nAnd if Barry Lawless be not a liar
\nThere’s more went groaning up Luggelaw
\nTo the Windmill Hill of Enniscorthy
\nThe British Fencibles they fled like deers
\nBut our ranks were tattered and sorely scattered
\nBy the loss of Kyan and the Shelmaleers<\/p>\n

The streets of England were left quite naked
\nOf all its army both foot and horse
\nThe highlands of Scotland were left unguarded
\nLikewise the Hessians the seas they crossed
\nBut if the Frenchmen had reinforced us
\nAnd landed transports in Bagenbun
\nFather John Murphy would be their seconder
\nAnd sixteen thousand with him would come<\/p>\n

Success attend the sweet County Wexford
\nThrow off its yoke and to battle run
\nLet them not think we gave up our arms
\nFor every man has a pike and gun<\/p>\n

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BOTANY BAY
\nOh I’m on my way down to the quay
\nWhere a big ship now does lie
\nFor to take a gang of navvies
\nI was told to engage
\nBut I thought I would call in for a while
\nBefore I went away
\nFor to take a trip in an emigrant ship
\nTo the shores of Botany Bay<\/p>\n

Chorus:<\/p>\n

Farewell to your bricks and mortar
\nFarewell to your dirty lime
\nFarewell to your gangway and gang planks
\nAnd to hell with your overtime
\nFor the good ship Ragamuffin
\nShe is lying at the quay
\nFor to take old Pat with a shovel on his back
\nTo the shores of Botany Bay<\/p>\n

The best years of our life we spend
\nAt working on the docks
\nBuilding mighty wharves and quays
\nOf earth and ballast rocks
\nOur pensions keep our lives secure
\nBut I’ll not rue the day
\nWhen I take a trip on an emigrant ship
\nTo the shores of Botany Bay<\/p>\n

For the boss came up this morning
\nAnd he said “Well Pat hello
\nIf you do not mix that mortar fast
\nBe sure you’ll have to go”
\nOf course he did insult me
\nI demanded of my pay
\nAnd I told him straight I was going to emigrate
\nTo the shores of Botany Bay<\/p>\n

And when I reach Australia
\nI’ll go and look for gold
\nSure there’s plenty there for the digging
\nOr so I have been told
\nOr I might go back into my trade
\nEight hundred bricks I’ll lay
\nIn an eight hour day for eight bob pay
\nOn the shores of Botany Bay<\/p>\n

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THE BOYS FROM THE COUNTY CORK
\nYou’ve in history’s pages
\nthe heroes of great fame
\nThe deeds they done, the battles won
\nand how they made their name
\nBut the boys that mad the history
\nfor the orange, white and green
\nwere the boys who died in Dublin Town
\nin nineteen sixteen<\/p>\n

So meet the boys from Kerry
\nand meet the boys form Clare
\nfrom Dublin, Wicklow, Donegal
\nand the boys of old Kildare
\nSome came from a land beyond the sea
\nfrom Boston and New York
\nBut the boys who beat the Black and Tans
\nwere the boys from the County Cork<\/p>\n

Now Cork gave us Mick Sweeney
\na martyr for to die
\nAnd Wicklow gave us Dwyer
\nin days so long gone by
\nAnd Dublin gave us Padraig Pearse
\nMcBride and Cathal Brugha
\nAnd America gave us de Valera
\nto lead old Ireland through<\/p>\n

So meet the boys from Kerry
\nand meet the boys form Clare
\nfrom Dublin, Wicklow, Donegal
\nand the boys of old Kildare
\nSome came from a land beyond the sea
\nfrom Boston and New York
\nBut the boys who beat the Black and Tans
\nwere the boys from the County Cork<\/p>\n

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THE BOYS FROM THE COUNTY MAYO
\nFar away from the land of the Shamrock and heather
\nIn search of a living, as exiles we roam
\nBut whenever we chance to assemble together
\nWe think of the land where we once had a home:
\nBut these homes are destroyed and our soil confiscated
\nThe hand of the tyrant brought plunder and woe;
\nThe fires are now quenched and our hearts desolated
\nIn our once happy homes in the County Mayo<\/p>\n

Long years have now passed since with hearts full of sorrow
\nThe of the Shamrock we left far behind;
\nBut how we would like to go back there to-morrow;
\nTo the scenes of our youth, which we still bear in mind;
\nThe days of our childhood, it’s now we recall them
\nThey cling to our vision wherever we go;
\nAnd the friends of our youth we will never forget them
\nThey too ar exiled from the County Mayo<\/p>\n

From historic Killala, from Swinford to Calla
\nBallyhaunis and Westport and old Castlebar
\nKiltimagh and Claremorris, Belmullet and Erris
\nKilkelly and Knock that’s famed near and far;
\nBalla, Ballinrobe, Ballina and Bohola
\nKeeloges and Foxford a few miles below
\nNewport and Cong with old Straide and Manulla
\nCharlestown too, in the County Mayo<\/p>\n

Then on with the cause ’till our aim is accomplished
\nThose who would fault us are cowardly and mean
\nSo stand in the fight ’till the tyrant is vanquished
\nExpelled from our Dear little Island of Green
\nWith the foes of our land we have fought a long battle
\nSoon they will get their last death-dealing blow
\nWhen old Nick has received them, their brains he will rattle
\nFor the wrongs they have done to the County Mayo<\/p>\n

From Galway to Dublin, from Derry to Kerry
\nNew York and ‘Frisco and Boston also
\nIn Pittsburg, Chicago, Detroit and Toronto
\nThere are stout-hearted men from the County Mayo
\nNow boys, pull together in all sorts of weather
\nDon’t show the white feather, wherever you go
\nAct each as a brother and help one another
\nLike true hearted men from the County Mayo<\/p>\n

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BOYS OF FAIRHILL
\nChorus:
\nThe smell on Patrick’s Bridge is wicked
\nHow does Faher Matthew stick it?
\nHere’s up them all says the boys of Fair hill<\/p>\n

Come boys, spend a day with our Harrier Club so gay:
\nThe cry of the hounds it will make your heart thrill
\nAnd, when you hear Conan Doyle say: the Amoured Car has won today,”
\nHere’s up ’em all say the boys of Fair Hill<\/p>\n

First you go to Fahy’s well for a drink of pure clean water
\nThe finest spot on earth sure the angels do say
\nWhere thousands came across the foam, just to view the Blarney Stone
\nWhich can be seen from the groves of Fair Hill<\/p>\n

First you go to Quinlan’s pub – that is where you join our club
\nWhere around us in gallons the porter does flow
\nFirst they tap a half-a-tierce and drink a health to Dashwood’s race;
\nThat’s the stuff to give ’em say the boys of Fair Hill<\/p>\n

Come boys and spend a day with our Hurling Club so gay
\nThe clash of the ash it will make your heart thrill;
\nThe Rockies thought that they were stars, till they meet the Saint Finbarr’s
\nHere’s up ’em all say the boys of Fair Hill<\/p>\n

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THE BOYS OF KILKENNY
\nOh the Boys of Kilkenny are brave roaring blades
\nAnd if ever they meet with the nice little maids
\nThey’ll kiss them and coax them and spend their money free
\nAnd of all towns in Ireland Kilkenny for me
\nAnd of all towns in Ireland Kilkenny for me
\nFal de ral de ral de ral de ral lal ra la la lo<\/p>\n

In the Town of Kilkenny there runs a clear stream
\nIn the Town of Kilkenny there lives a pretty dame
\nHer lips are like roses, and her mouth much the same
\nLike a dish of fresh strawberries smother’d in cream
\nFal de ral de ral de ral de ral lal ra la la lo<\/p>\n

Her Eyes are as black as Kilkennys large coal
\nWhich thro’ my poor bosom have burnt a big hole
\nHer mind like its river is mild clear and pure
\nBut her heart is more hard nor its marble I’m sure
\nFal de ral de ral de ral de ral lal ra la la lo<\/p>\n

Kilkenny’s a pretty town and shines where it stands
\nAnd the more I think on it, the more my heart warms
\nFor, if I was in Kilkenny I’d think myself at home
\nFor it’s there I’d get sweethearts, but here I get none
\nFal de ral de ral de ral de ral lal ra la la lo<\/p>\n

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The Boy form Tamlaghtduff
\nAs I walked through the Glenshane Pass I heard a young girl mourn
\n‘The boy form Tamlaghtduff ‘she cried ‘is two years dead and gone’
\nHow my heart is torn apart this young man to lose
\nOh I’ll never see the likes again of my young Francis Hughes<\/p>\n

For many years his exploits were a thorn in Englands side
\nThe hills and glens became his home there he used to hide
\nOnce when they surrounded him he quietly slipped away
\nLike a fox he went to ground and kept the dogs at bay<\/p>\n

Moving round the countryside he often made the news
\nBut they could never lay their hands on my brave Francis Hughes
\nFinally they wounded him and captured him at last
\nFrom the countryside he loved they took him to Belfast<\/p>\n

Oh from Musgrave Park to the Crumlin Road and then to an H-Block cell
\nHe went straight on the blanket then on hungerstrike as well
\nHis will to win they could never break no matter what they tried
\nHe fought them every day he lived and he fought them as he died<\/p>\n

As I walked through the Glenshane Pass I heard a young girl mourn
\n‘The boy form Tamlaghtduff ‘she cried ‘is two years dead and gone’
\nHow my heart is torn apart this young man to lose
\nOh I’ll never see the likes again of my young Francis Hughes<\/p>\n

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BREAD AND FISHES
\nChorus
\nAs I went a walkin’ one mornin’ in spring
\nI met with some travelers in an old country lane
\nOne was an old man, the second a maid
\nAnd the third was a young boy who smiled as he said<\/p>\n

Chorus:<\/p>\n

We’ve the wind in the willows, and the birds in the sky
\nWe’ve a bright sun to warm us, where ever we lie
\nWe have bread and fishes and a jug of red wine
\nTo share on our journey with all of mankind<\/p>\n

I sat down beside them, the flowers all around
\nAnd we ate on a mantle spread out on the ground
\nThey told me of prophets and princes and kings
\nAnd they spoke of the one god who knows everything<\/p>\n

I asked them to tell me their name and their race
\nSo I might remember their kindness and grace
\n“My name is Joseph, this is Mary my wife
\nAnd this is our young son, our pride and delight”<\/p>\n

We travel the whole world, by land and by sea
\nTo tell all the people how they might be free<\/p>\n

Sadly, I left them, in an old country lane
\nFor I knew that I never would see them again
\nOne was an old man, the second a maid
\nAnd the third was a young boy who smiled as he said:<\/p>\n

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BRENNAN ON THE MOOR
\n‘Tis of a brave young highwayman
\nThis story I will tell
\nHis name was Willie Brennan
\nAnd in Ireland he did dwell
\nIt was on the Kilwood Mountain
\nHe commenced his wild career
\nAnd many a wealthy nobleman
\nBefore him shook with fear<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nIt was Brennan on the moor
\nBrennan on the moor
\nBold, brave and undaunted
\nWas young Brennan on the moor<\/p>\n

One day upon the highway
\nAs young Willie he went down
\nHe met the mayor of Cashiell
\nA mile outside of town
\nThe mayor he knew his features
\nAnd he said, Young man, said he
\nYour name is Willie Brennan
\nYou must come along with me<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Now Brennan’s wife had gone to town
\nProvisions for to buy
\nAnd when she saw her Willie
\nShe commenced to weep and cry
\nSaid, Hand to me that tenpenny
\nAs soon as Willie spoke
\nShe handed him a blunderbuss
\nFrom underneath her cloak<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Now with this loaded blunderbuss
\nThe truth I will unfold
\nHe made the mayor to tremble
\nAnd he robbed him of his gold
\nOne hundred pounds was offered
\nFor his apprehension there
\nSo he, with horse and saddle
\nTo the mountains did repair<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Now Brennan being an outlaw
\nUpon the mountains high
\nWith cavalry and infantry
\nTo take him they did try
\nHe laughed at them with scorn
\nUntil at last ’twas said
\nBy a false-hearted woman
\nHe was cruelly betrayed<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

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BRIDGIT O’MALLEY
\nOh Bridgit O’Malley, you left my heart shaken
\nWith a hopeless desolation, I’d have you to know
\nIt’s the wonders of admiration your quiet face has taken
\nAnd your beauty will haunt me wherever I go<\/p>\n

The white moon above the pale sands, the pale stars above the thorn tree
\nAre cold beside my darling, but no purer than she
\nI gaze upon the cold moon till the stars drown in the warm sea
\nAnd the bright eyes of my darling are never on me<\/p>\n

My Sunday it is weary, my Sunday it is grey now
\nMy heart is a cold thing, my heart is a stone
\nAll joy is dead within me, my life has gone away now
\nFor another has taken my love for his own<\/p>\n

The day it is approaching when we were to be married
\nAnd it’s rather I would die than live only to grieve
\nOh meet me, my Darling, e’er the sun sets o’er the barley
\nAnd I’ll meet you there on the road to Drumslieve<\/p>\n

Oh Bridgit O’Malley, you’ve left my heart shaken
\nWith a hopeless desolation, I’d have you to know
\nIt’s the wonders of admiration your quiet face has taken
\nAnd your beauty will haunt me wherever I go<\/p>\n

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BRING THEM HOME
\nIn the jail that held McSwiney, in that prison where he died
\nThere lie two daughters of old Ireland and they fill my heart with pride
\nFor I know England wishes that we’d let them die alone
\nBut the voice of Dear old Ireland cries for us to bring them home<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nHere it ring in the air, it’s the voice of my country so fair
\nCan’t you feel? Can’t you see? Irishmen will set them free<\/p>\n

‘Twas for loving dear old Ireland brought them to their prison hell
\nBut the ghost of Pearse and Connolly fill there lonely prison cell
\nClarke and Plunkett stand beside them McDonagh, McDermott and Wolfe Tone
\nBut the voice of Dear old Ireland cries for us to bring them home<\/p>\n

So I pray young men of Ireland Don’t betray our daughters true
\nProudly stand behind our heroes blessed they died for you and me
\nThough the tyrant would deny us we can break their hearts of stone
\nAnd all the voices will be singing when we bring our daughters home<\/p>\n

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BUACHAILL \u00d3N \u00c9IRNE
\nBuachaill \u00f3n \u00c9irne m\u00e9’s bhr\u00e9agfainn cail\u00edn deas \u00f3g
\nN\u00ed fhiarfainn b\u00f3 spr\u00e9 l\u00e9i, t\u00e1imse f\u00e9in saibhir go leor
\n‘S liom Corcaigh d\u00e1 mh\u00e9ad \u00e9, is dh\u00e1 thaobh a’ ghleanna, ‘s T\u00edr Eoghain
\n‘S mura n-aithraigh m\u00e9 b\u00e9asa’s m\u00e9 an t-aidhir ar chontae Mhuigheo<\/p>\n

Rachfaidh m\u00e9 am\u00e1rach ag d\u00e9anamh leanna f\u00e1n choill
\nGan coite, gan b\u00e1d, gan gr\u00e1in\u00edn breac ar bith liom
\nAch duilli\u00far na gcraobh mar \u00e9adaigh leaba \u00f3s mo chionn
\n‘s \u00f3r\u00f3 sheacht m’anam d\u00e9ag th\u00fa, ‘s t\u00fa ag f\u00e9achaint orm anall<\/p>\n

Buachailleacht b\u00f3, mo leo, n\u00e1r chleacht mise riamh
\nAch ag imirt ‘s ag \u00f3l le h-\u00f3gmhn\u00e1 deasa \u00f3n sliabh
\nM\u00e1 chaill m\u00e9 mo st\u00f3r, n\u00ed m\u00f3ide gur chaill m\u00e9 mo chiall
\nIs n\u00ed m\u00f3 liom do ph\u00f3g n\u00e1 an bhr\u00f3g at\u00e1im ag caitheamh le bliain<\/p>\n

A ch\u00faisle ‘s a st\u00f3r, n\u00e1 p\u00f3s an seanduine liath
\nAch p\u00f3s an fear \u00f3g, mo leo, mura maire s\u00e9 ach bliain
\nN\u00f3 beidh t\u00fa go f\u00f3ill gan uadh n\u00f3 mac \u00f3s do chionn
\nA sh\u00edlfeadh aon deor ort tr\u00e1thn\u00f3na n\u00f3 ar maidin go trom<\/p>\n

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