The Patriot Game

[Guest]

Come all you young rebels
And list' while I sing
For the love of one's country
Is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear
With the speed of a flame,
And makes us all part of
The Patriot Game.
Mu name is O'Hanlon
And I've just gone sixteen
My home is Monaghan
And there I was weened.
I was taught all my life
Cruel England to blame.
And so I'm a part of
The Patriot Game.

'Tis barely two years
SinceI wandered away
With the local battalion
Of the bold I.R.A.
I've read of our heroes
And wanted the same
To play out my part in
The Patriot Game.

They told me how Connolly
Was shot in the chair
His wounds from the battle
All bleeding and bare,
His fine body twisted
All battered and lame,
They soon made him part of
The Patriot Game.

This Ireland of mine
Has for long been half free,
Six counties are under
John Bull's tyranny.
And still deValera
Is greatly to blame,
For shirking his part in
The Patriot Game.
I don't mind a bit if
I shoot down the police,
They're lackies for war
Never guardians of peace.
But yet at deserters
I'm never let aim
Those rebels who sold out
The Patriot Game.

And now as I lie with
My body all holes,
I think of those traitors
Who bargained and sold.
I'm sorry my rifle
Has not done the same,
For those quisslings who sold out
The Patriot Game.

 

[Guest]

'Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
When Ireland's line of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell
Rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out a flag of war.
Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky
Than at Suvla or Sudel Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying through;
While Brittania's sons with their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.

'Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves
On the fringe of the grey North Sea.
But had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Valera true,
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep
'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

The bravest fell, and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the springing of their years.
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
At those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew.