Protestant Men

It was back in history's page, the story's told of a Napper Tandy brave and bold
With his scarlet and green, he then was seen with his big long gun his fighting men
And they beat at the drum, they fired their gun and they shook the English establishment
And the Lords and the Peers they then put fears and Grattan got his Parliament

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

In Belfast town there lived a man and his name was Samuel Neilson
A minister's son, Presbyterian, and the paper called the Northern Star
There was Henry Joy, the Green Volunteers and Thomas Russell and McCabe and McTeir
And to them was known a man Wolfe Tone and they formed the first United Men

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

So you sow your laws with dragons teeth and soon you'll see that you've sowed the seeds of bigotry.
Be Englands fool divide they'll rule so they set to break the United Men
And they killed them in the fields and some in jail and some upon the Gallows high
When Willie Orr died his very last cry was "Unite and fight brave Irishmen"

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

Cast dissensions to the wind let all men lend to the common name of an Irishman
For across historys page to rant and rage men crossed the pails of bigotry
There was the men of '98 no sadder fate, Lord Edward, Tone and the brothers Sheres
It was Emmet's plea in 18 and 3 when he tried to set our country free

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

 The Memory Of The Dead

Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight?
Who blushes at the name?
When cowards mock the patriot's fate.
Who hangs his head for shame?
He's all a knave or half a slave.
Who slights his country thus
But a true man, like you man,
Will fill your glass with us.

We drink the memory of the brave,
The faithful and the few -
Some lie far off beyond the wave.
Some sleep in Ireland, too;
All, all are gone - but still - lives on
The fame of those who died;
All true men, like you, men.
Remember them with pride.

Some on the shores of distant lands
Their weary hearts have laid,
And by the stranger's heedless hands
Their lonely graves were made.
But, though their clay be far away
Beyond the Atlantic foam,
In true men, like you men,
Their spirits' still at home.

The dust of some is Irish earth
Among their own they rest;
And the same land that gave them birth
Has caught them to her breast;
And we will pray that from their clay
Full many a race may start
Of true men, like you men,
To act as brave a part.

They rose in dark and evil days
To right their native Iand;
They kindled here a living blaze.
That nothing shall withstand.
Alas! that Might can vanquish Right -
They fell and passed away;
But true men, like you men,
Are plenty here today.

Then here's their memory - may it be
For us a guiding light
To cheer our strife for liberty,
And teach us to unite!
Through good and ill be Ireland's still,
Though sad as their's your fate;
And true men, be you, men,
Like those of Ninety-Eight.

 The Big Fellah

Mo chara is mo lao thu!
My friend and my calf
Is aisling trí nÃÂallaibh
A vision in dream
Do deineadh aréir dom
Was revealed to me last night
IgCorcaigh go dÃÂanach
In Cork, a late hour,
Ar leaba im aonar
In my solitary bed

I remember you back in the GPO with Connolly and Clarke
Laughin' with McDermott through the bullets and the sparks
Always with the smart remark, your eyes blazin' and blue
But when we needed confidence we always turned to you
And when they shot our leaders up against Kilmainham wall
You were there beside us in that awful Easter dawn
Hey, big fellah..........where the hell are you now
When we need you the most
Hey, big fellah..........c'mon

Tabhair dom do lámh
Give me your hand

Back on the streets of Dublin when we fought the black and tans
You were there beside us, a towerin' mighty man
And God help the informer or the hated English spy
By Jaysus, Mick, you'd crucify them without the blinkin' of an eye
Still you had a heart as soft as the early mornin' dew
Every widow, whore and orphan could always turn to you
We beat them in the cities and we whipped them in the streets
And the world hailed Michael Collins, our commander and our chief
And they sent you off to London to negotiate a deal
And to gain us a republic, united, boys, and real
But the women and the drink, Mick, they must have got to you
'Cause you came back with a country divided up in two

We had to turn against you, Mick, there was nothin' we could do
'Cause we couldn't betray the republic like Arthur Griffith and you
We fought against each other, two brothers steeped in blood
But I never doubted that your heart was broken in the flood
And though we had to shoot you down in golden BÃÂal na Blath
I always knew that Ireland lost her greatest son of all

Larry Kirwan

Barry's Column

From East to West, from North to South,
They tried to hunt the column out
But the Tans were forced to go without
The boys of Barry's Column

In armoured cars they came to stay,
And wipe the Irish cowards away
But oh, the lovely holiday
Was stopped by Barry's Column

Oh but isn't great to see
The Tommies and the R.I.C
The Black And Tans and the Staters flee
Away from Barry's Column

By, George might have some wiley tricks
And have the volunteers to fix
Yet all his Black And Tans go sick
When they think of Barry's Column

His ships all come in red and black,
No tanks or war equipment lack
Yet o'er the sea, they'll ne'er get back
If caught by Barry's Column

Along the lonely road they wind
Armed in front, and armed behind
"We're sorry, but that bridge is mine"
Said the lads of Barry's Column

They stopped to rest just for a spell
Some hand-grenades upon them fell
"Here sort them out among yourselves"
Said the lads from Barry's Column

Oh but isn't it great to see,
The Staters and the R.I.C
The Tommies and the Tans all flee
Away from Barry's Column

Banna Strand

'Twas on Good Friday morning,
All in the month of May,
A German Ship was signalling,
Beyond out in the Bay,
We had twenty thousand rifles
All ready for to land,
But no answering signal did come
From the lonely Banna Strand.

"No signal answers from the shore",
Sir Roger sadly said,
"No comrades here to meet me,
Alas, they must be dead,
But I must do my duty
And at once I mean to land",
So in a small boat rowed ashore
On the lovely Banna Strand.

Now the R.I.C. were hunting
For Sir Roger high and low,
They found him in McKenna's fort;
Said they: "You are our foe",
Said he: "I'm Roger Casement,
I came to my native land,
I mean to free my countrymen
On the lonely Banna Strand.

They took Sir Roger prisoner,
And sailed for London town,
And in the Tower they laid him,
A traitor to the Crown;
Said he "I am no traitor",
But his trial he had to stand,
For bringing German rifles
To the lonely Banna Strand.

'Twas in an English prison
That they led him to his death,
"I'm dying for my country"
He said with his last breath,
They buried him in British soil
Far from his native land,
And the wild waves sing his requiem
On the lonely Banna Strand.

They took Sir Roger home again
In the year of '65,
And with his comrades of '16
In peace and tranquil lies,
His last fond wish, it is fulfilled
For to lie in his native land,
And the waves will roll in peace again
On the lonely Banna Strand.
These lyrics may or may not be copyrighted!

A Soldier's Song

We'll sing a song, a soldier's song
With cheering, rousing chorus
As round our blazing fires we throng,
The starry heavens o'er us;
Impatient for the coming fight,
And as we await the morning's light
Here in the silence of the night
We'll chant a soldier's song.

Soldiers are we, whose lives are pledged to Ireland
Some have come from a land beyond the waves.
Sworn to be free, no more our ancient sireland
Shall shelter the despot or the slave;
Tonight we man the bearna baoghal
In Erin's cause, come woe or weal;
'Mid cannon's roar and rifle's peal
We'll chant a soldier's song.

In valley green or towering crag
Our fathers fought before us,
And conquered 'neath the same old flag
That's proudly floating o'er us,
We're children of a fighting race
That never yet has known disgrace,
And as we march the foe to face,
We'll chant a soldier's song.

Sons of the Gael! Men of the Pale!
The long watched day is breaking;
The serried ranks of Innisfail
Shall set the tyrant quaking.
Our camp fires now are burning low;
See in the east a silv'ry glow,
Out yonder waits the Saxon foe,
So chant a soldier's song.
 

Peadar Kearney

The Pursuit of Farmer Michael Hayes


I am a bold undaunted fox that never yet was trapped or caught.
Me rent, rates and taxes I was willin’ for to pay.
I made me name in fine good land between Tipperary and Knocklong
Where my forefathers lived and died three thousand years ago.

I lived as happy as King Saul and loved me neighbours one and all,
I had no animosity for either friend nor foe,
Then I was of late betrayed by one who was a fool I know.
He told me I should leave the place and show me face no more.

The day that he evicted me, it’s then I knew that I should flee.
Late one night I took his life and left him lying low.
He fell victim to a shot, his agency was soon forgot.
From that day on they’re searchin’ for farmer Michael Hayes.

Soon there was a great lookout by land and sea myself to rout
From Dublin Quay to Belfast along the ragin’ sea.
By telegraph they did insert a great reward for my arrest,
Me figure, size and form, me name without mistake.

They broke their brogues a thousand pairs this great reward for to obtain;
Still their search was all in vain for farmer Michael Hayes.
They searched Tipperary o’er and o’er, the cornfields near Galtymore;
They then went into Wexford town but did not long delay.

Through Ballyhale and Stranemore, they searched the woods as they went on.
It’s they were hungry wet and cold before the break of day.
You may roam the world both far and near but never such a tale you’ll hear
Of a fox to get away so clear as I did from them hounds.

They searched the rocks, the gulfs, the quays, the ships, the liners in the bays,
The ferryboats and steamers as they were goin’ to sea
Around the coast they made a steer from Poolbeg lighthouse to Cape Clear,
Killarney town and sweet Tralee; they then crossed into Clare.

When they landed on the shore they searched Kilrush from tip to toe.
They searched the baths at sweet Lisdoon, likewise Milltown Malbay.
Galway bein’ a place of fame, they thought ’twas there I might remain,
Still their search was all in vain for I gave them all leg bail.

They searched the train at Oranmore as she was leavin’ for Athlone,
Every wagon, car and coach they met along the road.
Connemara being remote, they thought ’twas there I might resort;
As they were gettin’ weary they resolved to try Mayo.

In Ballaghaderreen they has to rest until the hounds they were refreshed.
They then went on to Westport and searched it high and low.
Through Castlebar they made a trot when they heard I was in Castlerock,
Still they were deluded where I lodged the night before.

In Swinford town as I lay down, I heard a dreadful cry of hounds
Which filled me with the notion to retaliate my chase.
Being weary from the road, I took a drink at half past four
Which filled me heart with strength and speed when the hounds were gettin’ slow.

As the moon began to shine I thought I’d make a foreign clime,
Leave them all to search away for farmer Michael Hayes.
To Dublin town I made my way and then to Cobh and Amerikay;
Now I’m in the land of liberty and a fig for all my foes.


Trad.

Ballad Of Accounting


In the morning we built the city
In the afternoon walked through its streets
Evening saw us leaving
We wandered through our days as if they would never end
All of us imagined we had endless time to spend
We hardly saw the crossroads
And small attention gave
To landmarks on the journey from the cradle to the grave,
cradle to the grave, cradle to the grave

Did you learn to dream in the morning?
Abandon dreams in the afternoon?
Wait without hope in the evening?
Did you stand there in the traces and let them feed you lies?
Did you trail along behind them wearing blinkers on your eyes?
Did you kiss the foot that kicked you?
Did you thank them for their scorn?
Did you ask for their forgiveness for the act of being born,
act of being born, act of being born?

Did you alter the face of the city?
Did you make any change in the world you found?
Or did you observe all the warnings?
Did you read the trespass notices, did you keep off the grass?
Did you shuffle off the pavement just to let your betters pass?
Did you learn to keep your mouth shut,
Were you seen and never heard?
Did you learn to be obedient and jump to at a word,
jump to at a word, jump to at a word?

Did you ever demand any answers?
The who, the what or the reason why?
Did you ever question the setup?
Did you stand aside and let them choose while you took second best?
Did you let them skim the cream off and then give to you the rest?
Did you settle for the shoddy?
Did you think it right
To let them rob you right and left and never make a fight,
never make a fight, never make a fight?

What did you learn in the morning?
How much did you know in the afternoon?
Were you content in the evening?
Did they teach you how to question when you were at the school?
Did the factory help you grow, were you the maker or the tool?
Did the place where you were living
Enrich your life and then
Did you reach some understanding of all your fellow men,
all your fellow men, all your fellow men?

The Paul McKenna Band

Silent Majority


There’s a moral to the story that I’m about to tell
When you take a look around you to see that all is well
Just because you’re cozy

Don’t think the world is rosy
Some people in this world have gone through hell
And the silent majority stayed silent
While the despots murdered millions world wide
And tyrannical purveyors of injustice
Make the law then claim the law is on their side

In Thirty Three in Germany when Hitler came to play
Liberty was gradually eroded day by day
Till they gassed and shot deserters
While the decent people cowered
And thought the things they never dared to say
And the silent majority stayed silent
While they rounded up the democrat and Jew
For the Fatherland they murdered children’s fathers
Who’s only crime was saying what was true

In seventy three in Chile workers marched to show their plight
But the fascist few with guns and mortars showed them how to fight
Then in Santiago stadium
They tortured and they killed
Till they’d smashed the opposition out of sight
And the silent majority stayed silent
While democracy was crushed beneath their tanks
They were murdered in the name of western freedom
With the aid of planes donated by the Yanks

Then in Peking a million people gathered in the square
Students workers wives and children, hope was in the air
As they stood in peaceful protest
They were massacred unarmed
They annihilated hundreds that were there
And the silent majority stayed silent
While they executed dozens in their name
And the people’s army turned upon the people
And corruption reigned supremely once again

South Africa, Cambodia, Great Britain and Iran
Every nation state in history since history began
Since the son of man was martyred
To pay the price of sin
I sometimes think our savior died in vain
And the silent majority stayed silent
While they crucified the lamb upon a hill
He was murdered in the name of religion
And if Christ returned they’d crucify him still

Their propaganda twists the facts before your very eyes
And with thin threads of truth they’ll weave their wicked webs of lies
Like Jesus was a heretic
And Caesar was a god
And pity help who’d dare to criticize
If the silent Majority stays silent
Then the evil men will surely have their way
Stem the tide before he deluge; that’s the moral
If we don’t speak up we’ll all be swept away.



The Paul McKenna Band

John Riley


John Riley came form Galway town in the years of the Irish hunger
And he sailed away to America when the country was much younger
The place was strange and work was scarce and all he knew was farming

So he followed his other Irish friends to a job in the US Army

Adventure calls and some men run, and this is their sad story
Some get drunk on demon rum and some get drunk on glory

They marched down Texas way to the banks of the Rio Grande
They built a fort on the banks above to taunt old Santa Anna
They were treated bad, paid worse, and then the fighting started
The more they fought the less they thought of the damned old US Army

Adventure calls and some men run, and this is their sad story
Some get drunk on demon rum and some get drunk on glory

When the church bells rang on Sunday morn it set his soul a shiver
He saw the Senoritas washing their hair on the far side of the river
John Riley and two hundred more Irish mercenaries
Cast their lot, right or not, south of the Rio Grande

Adventure calls and some men run, and this is their sad story
Some get drunk on demon rum and some get drunk on glory

They fought bravely under the flag of the San Patricios
Till the Yankees soldiers beat them down at the battle of Churubusco
Then fifteen men were whipped like mules
And on the cheeks were hot iron branded
Made to dig the graves of fifty more, who a hanging fate had handed

Adventure calls and some men run, and this is their sad story
Some get drunk on demon rum and some get drunk on glory

John Riley stands and drinks alone at a bar in Vera Cruz
He wonders if it matters much if you win or if you lose
I'm a man who can't go home, a wanderer, says he
A victim of some wanderlust and divided loyalty.


The Paul McKenna Band

The Haggis of Private McPhee


    "Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither's postit tae me?
    It fair maks me hamesick," says Private McPhee.
    "And whit did she send ye?" says Private McPhun,
    As he cockit his rifle and bleezed at a Hun.
    "A haggis! A HAGGIS!" says Private McPhee;
    "The brawest big haggis I ever did see.
    And think! it's the morn when fond memory turns
    Tae haggis and whuskey -- the Birthday o' Burns.
    We maun find a dram; then we'll ca' in the rest
    O' the lads, and we'll hae a Burns' Nicht wi' the best."

    "Be ready at sundoon," snapped Sergeant McCole;
    "I want you two men for the List'nin' Patrol."
    Then Private McPhee looked at Private McPhun:
    "I'm thinkin', ma lad, we're confoundedly done."
    Then Private McPhun looked at Private McPhee:
    "I'm thinkin' auld chap, it's a' aff wi' oor spree."
    But up spoke their crony, wee Wullie McNair:
    "Jist lea' yer braw haggis for me tae prepare;
    And as for the dram, if I search the camp roun',
    We maun hae a drappie tae jist haud it doon.
    Sae rin, lads, and think, though the nicht it be black,
    O' the haggis that's waitin' ye when ye get back."

    My! but it wis waesome on Naebuddy's Land,
    And the deid they were rottin' on every hand.
    And the rockets like corpse candles hauntit the sky,
    And the winds o' destruction went shudderin' by.
    There wis skelpin' o' bullets and skirlin' o' shells,
    And breengin' o' bombs and a thoosand death-knells;
    But cooryin' doon in a Jack Johnson hole
    Little fashed the twa men o' the List'nin' Patrol.
    For sweeter than honey and bricht as a gem
    Wis the thocht o' the haggis that waitit for them.

    Yet alas! in oor moments o' sunniest cheer
    Calamity's aften maist cruelly near.
    And while the twa talked o' their puddin' divine
    The Boches below them were howkin' a mine.
    And while the twa cracked o' the feast they would hae,
    The fuse it wis burnin' and burnin' away.
    Then sudden a roar like the thunner o' doom,
    A hell-leap o' flame . . . then the wheesht o' the tomb.

    "Haw, Jock! Are ye hurtit?" says Private McPhun.
    "Ay, Geordie, they've got me; I'm fearin' I'm done.
    It's ma leg; I'm jist thinkin' it's aff at the knee;
    Ye'd best gang and leave me," says Private McPhee.
    "Oh leave ye I wunna," says Private McPhun;
    "And leave ye I canna, for though I micht run,
    It's no faur I wud gang, it's no muckle I'd see:
    I'm blindit, and that's whit's the maitter wi' me."
    Then Private McPhee sadly shakit his heid:
    "If we bide here for lang, we'll be bidin' for deid.
    And yet, Geordie lad, I could gang weel content
    If I'd tasted that haggis ma auld mither sent."
    "That's droll," says McPhun; "ye've jist speakit ma mind.
    Oh I ken it's a terrible thing tae be blind;
    And yet it's no that that embitters ma lot --
    It's missin' that braw muckle haggis ye've got."

    For a while they were silent; then up once again
    Spoke Private McPhee, though he whussilt wi' pain:
    "And why should we miss it? Between you and me
    We've legs for tae run, and we've eyes for tae see.
    You lend me your shanks and I'll lend you ma sicht,
    And we'll baith hae a kyte-fu' o' haggis the nicht."

    Oh the sky it wis dourlike and dreepin' a wee,
    When Private McPhun gruppit Private McPhee.
    Oh the glaur it wis fylin' and crieshin' the grun',
    When Private McPhee guidit Private McPhun.
    "Keep clear o' them corpses -- they're maybe no deid!
    Haud on! There's a big muckle crater aheid.
    Look oot! There's a sap; we'll be haein' a coup.
    A staur-shell! For Godsake! Doun, lad, on yer daup.
    Bear aff tae yer richt. . . . Aw yer jist daein' fine:
    Before the nicht's feenished on haggis we'll dine."

    There wis death and destruction on every hand;
    There wis havoc and horror on Naebuddy's Land.
    And the shells bickered doun wi' a crump and a glare,
    And the hameless wee bullets were dingin' the air.
    Yet on they went staggerin', cooryin' doun
    When the stutter and cluck o' a Maxim crept roun'.
    And the legs o' McPhun they were sturdy and stoot,
    And McPhee on his back kept a bonnie look-oot.
    "On, on, ma brave lad! We're no faur frae the goal;
    I can hear the braw sweerin' o' Sergeant McCole."

    But strength has its leemit, and Private McPhun,
    Wi' a sab and a curse fell his length on the grun'.
    Then Private McPhee shoutit doon in his ear:
    "Jist think o' the haggis! I smell it from here.
    It's gushin' wi' juice, it's embaumin' the air;
    It's steamin' for us, and we're -- jist -- aboot -- there."

    Then Private McPhun answers: "Dommit, auld chap!
    For the sake o' that haggis I'll gang till I drap."
    And he gets on his feet wi' a heave and a strain,
    And onward he staggers in passion and pain.
    And the flare and the glare and the fury increase,
    Till you'd think they'd jist taken a' hell on a lease.
    And on they go reelin' in peetifu' plight,
    And someone is shoutin' away on their right;
    And someone is runnin', and noo they can hear
    A sound like a prayer and a sound like a cheer;
    And swift through the crash and the flash and the din,
    The lads o' the Hielands are bringin' them in.

    "They're baith sairly woundit, but is it no droll
    Hoo they rave aboot haggis?" says Sergeant McCole.
    When hirplin alang comes wee Wullie McNair,
    And they a' wonnert why he wis greetin' sae sair.
    And he says: "I'd jist liftit it oot o' the pot,
    And there it lay steamin' and savoury hot,
    When sudden I dooked at the fleech o' a shell,
    And it -- dropped on the haggis and dinged it tae hell."

    And oh but the lads were fair taken aback;
    Then sudden the order wis passed tae attack,
    And up from the trenches like lions they leapt,
    And on through the nicht like a torrent they swept.
    On, on, wi' their bayonets thirstin' before!
    On, on tae the foe wi' a rush and a roar!
    And wild to the welkin their battle-cry rang,
    And doon on the Boches like tigers they sprang:
    And there wisna a man but had death in his ee,
    For he thocht o' the haggis o' Private McPhee.

Robert Service