The Internationale
Arise ye workers from your slumbers
Arise ye prisoners of want
For reason in revolt now thunders
And at last ends the age of cant.
Away with all your superstitions
Servile masses arise, arise
We'll change henceforth the old tradition
And spurn the dust to win the prize.
Chorus
So comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face
The Internationale unites the human race.
So comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face
The Internationale unites the human race.
(chorus)
No more deluded by reaction
On tyrants only we'll make war
The soldiers too will take strike action
They'll break ranks and fight no more
And if those cannibals keep trying
To sacrifice us to their pride
They soon shall hear the bullets flying
We'll shoot the generals on our own side.
(chorus)
No saviour from on high delivers
No faith have we in prince or peer
Our own right hand the chains must shiver
Chains of hatred, greed and fear
E'er the thieves will out with their booty
And give to all a happier lot.
Each at the forge must do their duty
And we'll strike while the iron is hot.
Words by Eugene Pottier (Paris 1871)
Music by Pierre Degeyter (1888)
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The Red Flag.
The people's flag is deepest red,
It shrouded oft our martyred dead,
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold,
Their hearts blood dyed its every fold.
Chorus
Then raise the scarlet standard high.
Within its shade we'll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We'll keep the red flag flying here.
Look round, the Frenchman loves its blaze,
The sturdy German chants its praise,
In Moscow's vaults its hymns are sung
Chicago swells the surging throng.
It waved above our infant might,
When all ahead seemed dark as night;
It witnessed many a deed and vow,
We must not change its colour now.
It well recalls the triumphs past,
It gives the hope of peace at last;
The banner bright, the symbol plain,
Of human right and human gain.
With heads uncovered swear we all
To bear it onward till we fall;
Come dungeons dark or gallows grim,
This song shall be our parting hymn.
Written by Jim Connell
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The Watchword
of Labour
Oh, hear ye the watchword of Labour,
the slogan of those who’d be free,
That no more to any enslaver
must Labour bend suppliant knee,
That we on whose shoulders are borne
the pomp and the pride of the great,
Whose toil they repay with their scorn,
must challenge and master our fate.
chorus:
Then send it aloft on the breeze boys,
That watchword the grandest we’ve known
That Labour must rise from its knees, boys,
And claim the broad earth as its own.
Aye, we who oft won by our valour,
empires for our rulers and lords,
Yet knelt in abasement and squalor
to things we had made with our swords,
Now velour with worth will be blending,
when answering Labour’s command,
We arise from our knees and ascending
to manhood for freedom take stand.
chorus
Then out from the field and the city
from workshop, from mill and from mine,
Despising their wrath and their pity,
we workers are moving in line,
To answer the watchword and token
that Labour gives forth as its own,
Nor pause till our fetters we’ve broken,
and conquered the spoiler and drone.
Written by James Connolly
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Venceremos
Desde el hondo crisol de la patria
se levanta el clamor popular.
Ya se anuncia la nueva alborada,
todo Chile comienza a cantar.
Recordando al soldado valiente,
cuyo ejemplo lo hiciera inmortal,
enfrentemos primero a la muerte,
traicionar a la patria jamás.
Venceremos, venceremos,
mil cadenas habrá que romper,
venceremos, venceremos,
la miseria sabremos vencer.
Campesinos, soldados, mineros,
la mujer de la patria también,
estudiantes, empleados y obreros,
cumpliremos con nuestro deber.
Sembraremos las tierras de gloria,
socialista será el porvenir.
Todos juntos seremos la historia,
a cumplir, a cumplir, a cumplir.
Venceremos, venceremos,
mil cadenas habrá que romper,
venceremos, venceremos,
la miseria sabremos vencer.
Written by Claudio Iturra and composed by Sergio Ortega for the 1970 election campaign of Salvador Allende.
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CHRISTIAN CHARITY
They hunted you Jim Gralton from your father’s ancient home,
And shipped you like their cattle across the ocean foam,
Those rich men are so holy they decreed that you must fly,
So in their Christian charity you are left alone to die.
Were you of the robber classes that live by loot and gain,
Upon the sweated masses they would crave to remain,
Had you ten thousand acres and blood stain in every field,
The Empire and its herdsmen to your slightest whim would yield.
Had you cars and bullock ranches, and herds with spies to boot,
The Church and State behind you, they would help to guard your loot,
Or the Lord of crumbling hovels or the boss of sweated slaves,
You would now be Sir James Gralton among a pack of robber knaves.
But you craved not for those vices you were loyal to your kind,
You left your fellow workers in body and in mind,
You did nerve your fellow worker who long wasted flesh and bone
To enrich an idle robber, you nerve him siege his own.
For this you are called unholy and for this you must fly.
From your land and feeble mother you must leave me here to die,
Since the property is so sacred, must apply along to things.
That was seized by blood and plunder, to enrich great Lords and Kings.
But the workers day is coming through another come for me
The dawn of Ireland’s freedom on earth I never shall see.
But I will rejoice in glory in a land beyond the grave,
When Ireland and the world has freed the fettered slave.
Written by Martin McGoldrick.
Air: “The Flower of Sweet Strabane”
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Peat Bog Soldiers
Far and wide as the eye can wander,
Heath and bog are everywhere.
Not a bird sings out to cheer us.
Oaks are standing gaunt and bare.
We are the peat bog soldiers,
Marching with our spades to the moor.
Up and down the guards are marching,
No one, no one can get through.
Flight would mean a sure death facing,
Guns and barbed wire block our view.
We are the peat bog soldiers,
Marching with our spades to the moor.
But for us there is no complaining,
Winter will in time be past.
One day we rise rejoicing.
Homeland, dear, you're mine at last.
Then will the peat bog soldiers
March no more with their spades to the moor.
This song was written, composed and first performed by prisoners in the Borgemoor Concentration camp in 1933. The majority of prisoners were communists, socialists and other groups considered dangerous by the Nazi regime.
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Banks of the Moy
One day as I went to my rambles
from Swinford to sweet Ballylea
I met with a maid as I rambled
and her name it was Mary Mc Gee.
Well, she sighed for the rights of old Ireland:
Michael Davitt, my brave Irish boy,
he is now in a prison in Portland,
far from the lovely sweet banks of the Moy.
I quickly approached this fair maiden,
asked her what was the cause of her woe
and what was her reason for misery
that caused her from home for to roam.
Well, she sighed, for the rights of old Ireland
Michael Davitt, my brave Irish boy,
he is now in a prison in Portland,
far from the lovely sweet banks of the Moy.
Don't you talk of your sweet '67,
we had brave men and true men also,
there was young Peter Carney, God rest him,
he died in Killarney, you know.
He was trailed by Mid-Ireland, Michael Davitt,
'round the valleys and plains of half Fermoy.
And that's why he's in prison in Portland,
far from the lovely sweet banks of the Moy.
And now to conclude and to finish
I hope that the day soon will come,
when those cruel landlords and bailiffs
from the isle of St. Patrick must run.
We will unfurl our green and gold banner
and to Ireland we'll raise our head on high,
then we will drink to our brave Michael Davitt
from the lovely sweet banks of the Moy.
Written by Seamus O'Duffy
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Viva la Quinta Brigada
Ten years before I saw the light of morning
A comradeship of heroes was laid
From every corner of the world came sailing
The Fifteenth International Brigade
They came to stand beside the Spanish people
To try and stem the rising fascist tide
Franco's allies were the powerful and wealthy
Frank Ryan's men came from the other side
Even the olives were bleeding
As the battle for Madrid it thundered on
Truth and love against the force of evil
Brotherhood against the fascist clan
CHORUS
Viva la Quinta Brigada
"No Pasaran", the pledge that made them fight
"Adelante" is the cry around the hillside
Let us all remember them tonight
Bob Hilliard was a Church of Ireland pastor
Form Killarney across the Pyrenees he came
From Derry came a brave young Christian Brother
Side by side they fought and died in Spain
Tommy Woods age seventeen died in Cordoba
With Na Fianna he learned to hold his gun
From Dublin to the Villa del Rio
Where he fought and died beneath the Spanish sun
CHORUS
Many Irishmen heard the call of Franco
Joined Hitler and Mussolini too
Propaganda from the pulpit and newspapers
Helped O'Duffy to enlist his crew
The word came from Maynooth, "support the Nazis"
The men of cloth failed again
When the Bishops blessed the Blueshirts down in Galway
As they sailed beneath the swastika to Spain
CHORUS
This song is a tribute to Frank Ryan
Kit Conway and Dinny Coady too
Peter Daly, Charlie Regan and Hugh Bonar
Though many died I can but name a few
Danny Boyle, Blaser-Brown and Charlie Donnelly
Liam Tumilson and Jim Straney from the Falls
Jack Nalty, Tommy Patton and Frank Conroy
Jim Foley, Tony Fox and Dick O'Neill
CHORUS
Written by Christy Moore
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Sligo’s Noble Six
All true men of this Irish nation
Who follow the tricolour fold.
Come and join in sincere lamentation
And pray for the true and the bold.
It is but a pitiful story
Unequalled in bloodshed and tears,
As bright as the stars in their glory
Shine the names of our dead volunteers.
Then pray for Banks, Carroll and Langan
McNeill, Benson, Devins, T.D.
Six hearts that were true to old Ireland
And died that their land might be free.
They died on a cold autumn evening
When nature its charms did unfold
Those heroes were crossing the mountains
Their number being six we are told.
They were marching to meet their brave comrades
Of danger they were not afraid
But out for the cause of freedom
They were followed and beastly betrayed.
The mist on the mountain was falling
While the rain in its torrents did spill
The Irish green and tans they were crossing
The side of Benbulben’s big hill.
The mist on the hillside was heavy
And the sound of the rifles was low
As our brave lads they were marching onwards
And surprised by the approach of the foe.
They came in their fast Crossley tenders
And many a strong armoured car,
With lewis guns, maxims and rifles
All England’s equipment of war.
God pity those brave Irish heroes,
The steel ring was closing in fast.
Although in the prime of their manhood
This evening, it was then their last.
From out their cars the Staters poured,
Like lions swooped down on the fold.
Our brave lads were quickly surrounded
And driven from their little stronghold.
They took to the hillside for cover
While the State poured its merciless rain
They shot them like partridge in clover
And six of the bravest were slain.
Then pray for Banks, Carroll and Langan
McNeill, Benson, Devins, T.D.
Six Hearts that were true to old Ireland
And died that their land might be free.
Borne on the shoulders of comrades
Who mourned them silent and deep
In a republican plot in North Sligo
We laid them to take their last sleep.
Beloved, honoured, respected,
Forgotten ne’er shall they be
While the sun it shines over North Sligo
And the Shannon flows into the sea.
Author unknown. Lyrics published “In the Shadow of Benbulben” by Joe McGowan
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The Rebel Girl
There are women of many descriptions
In this queer world, as everyone knows.
Some are living in beautiful mansions,
And are wearing the finest of clothes.
There are blue blooded queens and princesses,
Who have charms made of diamonds and pearl;
But the only and thoroughbred lady
Is the Rebel Girl.
CHORUS:
That's the Rebel Girl, that's the Rebel Girl!
To the working class she's a precious pearl.
She brings courage, pride and joy
To the fighting Rebel Boy.
We've had girls before, but we need some more
In the Industrial Workers of the World.
For it's great to fight for freedom
With a Rebel Girl.
Yes, her hands may be hardened from labor,
And her dress may not be very fine;
But a heart in her bosom is beating
That is true to her class and her kind.
And the grafters in terror are trembling
When her spite and defiance she'll hurl;
For the only and thoroughbred lady
Is the Rebel Girl.
Written by Joe Hill
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Dublin City in 1913
In Dublin City in 1913
The boss was rich and the poor were slaves
The women worked and the children hungry
Then on came Larkin like a towering wave
The worker cringed when the bossman thundered
And 13 hours was his daily chore
He asked for little and less was granted
Lest getting little he'd ask for more
Then on came Larkin in 1913
A mighty man with a powerful tongue
The voice of labour, the voice of justice
And he was gifted as he was young
God sent us Larkin in 1913
A powerful man with a mighty tongue
He raised the workers, he gave us courage
He was our leader, the workers' son
In 1913 the bossman told us
No union man for him could work
We stood by Larkin, we told the bossman
We'd fight or die, but we would not shirk
8 months we fought and 8 months we starved
We stood by Larkin through thick and thin
But foodless homes and the crying of children
They broke our hearts and we could not win
Then Larkin left us, we seemed defeated
The night was black for the workless men
But then came Connolly with new hope and council
His motto was, "We'll rise again"
In Dublin City in 1916
The British Army they burned our town
They shelled our building, they shot our leaders
The plough was buried 'neath the bloody crown
They shot MacDiarmad and Pearse and Plunkett
They shot MacDonagh and Clarke the brave
From bleak Kilmainham they took their bodies
To Arbour Hill and a quicklime grave
But last of all of these seven hereos
I'll sing the praise of James Connolly
The voice of labour, the voice of justice
He gave his life that man might be free
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Plane Wreck At Los Gatos (Deportee)
The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
Written by Woody Guthrie
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The West's Asleep
When all beside a vigil keep,
The West's asleep, the West's asleep-
Alas! and well may Erin weep,
When Connaught lies in slumber deep.
There lake and plain smile fair and free,
'Mid rocks-their guardian chivalry-
Sing oh! let man learn liberty
From crashing wind and lashing sea.
That chainless wave and lovely, land
Freedom and Nationhood demand-
Be sure, the great God never plann'd,
For slumbering slaves, a home so grand.
And, long, a brave and haughty race
Honoured and sentinelled the place-
Sing oh! not even their sons' disgrace
Can quite destroy their glory's trace.
For often, in O'Connor's van,
To triumph dash'd each Connaught clan-
And fleet as deer the Normans ran
Through Coirrsliabh Pass and Ardrahan.
And later times saw deeds as brave;
And glory guards Clanricarde's grave-
Sing oh! they died their land to save,
At Aughrim's slopes and Shannon's wave.
And if, when all a vigil keep,
The West's; asleep, the West's asleep-
Alas! and well may Erin weep,
That Connaught lies in slumber deep.
But-hark! -some voice like thunder spake:
" The West's awake, the West's awake'-
Sing oh! hurra! let England quake,
We'll watch till death for Erins sake!"
Written by Thomas Davis
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Yellow Triangle
Black triangle, pink triangle
Green triangle, red triangle
Blue triangle, lilac triangle
And they wore the yellow triangle
When first they came for the criminals I did not speak
Then they began to take the Jews
When they fetched the people who were members of trade unions
I did not speak
When they took the Bible students, rounded up the homosexuals
Then they gathered up the immigrants and the gypsies
I did not speak, I did not speak
Eventually they came for me and there was no one left to speak
CHORUS
Written by Christy Moore (after Pastor Niemöller)
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The Citizen Army
The Citizen Army is out today and if you wonder why,
Go ask the Lords of the tram-lined way if their cash returns be high.
‘Tisn’t the bosses who bear the brunt, ‘tisn’t you and I,
But the women and kinds whose tears are hid as the strikers go stumbling by.
The docker loads two hundred tons in his master’s ship per day,
At night the docker’s daughter bends her weary limbs to pray.
From the old North Wall to Liberty hall was a deadline of unskilled,
They heaved and they hauled when the bosses called and ceased when the bosses willed.
The Citizen Army is out today and if you wonder why,
Jim Larkin came this way to nail the bosses’ lie.
That the iron gvyes of their limbs and lives would crush them till they die,
Those women and kids whose tears are hid as the strikers go marching by.
The docker and carter and heaver of coal, were only the backwash then,
Till Larkin built the union up and the bosses feared again,
From the old North Wall to Liberty Hall came that deadline of unskilled,
In a new-born fight for the workers’ rights, that the bosses thought they had killed.
The Citizen Army is out today and if you wonder why,
Go ask the troops in their master’s pay if the blood on their guns be dry.
Ah, well, they won and the baton and gun have swung where the dead men lie,
For the women and kids whose tears are hid as the wounded go stumbling by.
Jim Connolly watches ships to out through flags at Kingstown Pier,
And starving Dublin sends it toll of Guard and Fusilier,
Food for the guns that over the world have thundered murder’s peal,
And Dublin’s broken union men die first on Flanders fields.
The Citizen Army is out today and if you wonder why,
Go ask the men in the grey and green why the Plough and the Stars flag flies,
‘Tisn’t only the bosses we challenge now, ‘tis Connolly has cast the die,
For the women and kids whose tears are hid as the soldiers go marching by
Four hundred bosses planned to break that deadline of unskilled;
Four hundred bosses drink tonight for Connolly is killed.
But dead or alive, there are those who strive a glorious thing to do,
For Connolly built that union up, for the likes of me and you.
The Citizen Army is out today and if you wonder why,
Go ask the lords of the banking house if their cash returns be high,
For they are there and we are here, and a fight to the knife again,
The Citizen Army is out today; come workers, are ye men?
Written by Liam MacGabhann.
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The Union Maid
There once was a union maid, she never was afraid
Of goons and ginks and company finks and the deputy sheriffs who made the raid.
She went to the union hall when a meeting it was called,
And when the Legion boys come 'round
She always stood her ground.
CHORUS:
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union, I'm sticking to the union.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union 'til the day I die.
This union maid was wise to the tricks of company spies,
She couldn't be fooled by a company stool, she'd always organize the guys.
She always got her way when she struck for better pay.
She'd show her card to the National Guard
And this is what she'd say:
CHORUS
You gals who want to be free, just take a tip from me;
Get you a man who's a union man and join the ladies' auxiliary.
Married life ain't hard when you got a union card,
A union man has a happy life when he's got a union wife.
CHORUS
Written by Woody Guthrie
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A LEITRIM WOMAN
People of Ireland -- I am an old woman; I am near my end;
I have lived, now, for seventy-five years in your midst;
I have grown up among you, toiled among you, suffered with
you and enjoyed with you;
I have given and received in faith and honour;
what was to be endured I have endured, what was to be fought
against I have fought against,
what was to be done
I have done;
I have married in my country; I have borne two men-children
and three women-children,
two sons and three daughters of a Fenian father;
I have brought them up to love and serve Ireland,
to fight for her to death,
to work for her at home and abroad,
to cherish the old glory of Ireland and to strive manfully
to bring in new light --
to go forward;
I have brought them up in faith, to know freedom, and love
justice,
to take sides with the poor against their spoilers,
against the leaders who say to a strong class
"Hold all thou hast, take all thou canst,"
to unbind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne
from men's shoulders,
to render unto the people what is the people's;
I have brought them up to believe in our Lord's prayer,
to believe in the coming of his Kingdom upon earth
and to labour that it come indeed;
The strength of my body has gone into the soil of this land, and
the strength of my children's bodies;
the strength of my soul and the strength of my children's soul
has been given in the cause of the people of this land;
I have suffered, I have endured, when they were in exile and
in danger of death -
now my husband and one son are dead,
my last son deported without trial, uncharged -
the spoilers and their friends
the strong and their helpers
have taken him from me;
I am old, now, and near to death;
those who would have supported me and eased my going have
been taken from me -
I looked for a little peace before the hour of my departure,
my last son in the house with me, to see me into the grave -
they have driven him forth -
may the curse of heaven, if there be a heaven, light on them;
the curse of the widow and childless light on them;
the curse of the poor without advocates,
the curse of the old without protection,
the curse of a mother light on them.
Written by Lyle Donaghy (1902-1949)
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Bandiera Rossa
Avanti o popolo alla riscossa
Bandiera rossa, bandiera rossa
Avanti o popolo alla riscossa
Bandiera rossa trionferà
Bandiera rossa la trionferà
Bandiera rossa la trionferà
Bandiera rossa la trionferà
Evviva il comunismo e la libertà
Avanti popolo tuona il cannone
rivoluzione rivoluzione
avanti popolo tuona il cannone
rivoluzione vogliamo far
Rivoluzione noi vogliamo far
Rivoluzione noi vogliamo far
Rivoluzione noi vogliamo far
Evviva il comunismo e la libertà
Degli sfruttati, l'immensa schiera
La pura innalzi rossa bandiera,
O proletari, alla riscossa
Bandiera rossa trionferà
Bandiera rossa la trionferà ...
Dai campi al mare, alla miniera,
All' officina, chi soffre e spera,
Sia pronto, è l'ora della riscossa.
Bandiera rossa trionferà
Bandiera rossa la trionferà ...
Non più nemici, non più frontiere,
Lungo i confini rosse bandiere.
O comunisti alla riscossa
Bandiera rossa trionferà
Bandiera rossa la trionferà ...
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Go, Move, Shift
Born in the middle of the afternoon
In a horsedrawn carriage on the old A5
The big twelve wheeler shook my bed,
"You can't stay here" the policeman said.
CHORUS
You'd better get born in some place else.
So move along, get along, Move along, get along,
Go! Move! Shift!
Born in the common by a building site
Where the ground was rutted by the trail of wheels
The local Christian said to me,
"You'll lower the price of property."
CHORUS
Born at potato picking time
In a noble tent in a tatie field.
The farmer said, "The work's all done
It's time that you was moving on."
CHORUS
Born at the back of a hawthorn hedge
Where the black hole frost lay on the ground.
No eastern kings came bearing gifts.
Instead the order came to shift.
CHORUS
The eastern sky was full of stars
And one shone brighter than the rest
The wise men came so stern and strict
And brought the orders to evict
CHORUS
Wagon, tent or trailer born,
Last month, last year or in far off days.
Born here or a thousand miles away
There‚s always men nearby who'll say
CHORUS
Six in the morning out in Inchicore
The guards came through the wagon door.
John Maughan was arrested in the cold
A travelling boy just ten years old.
CHORUS
Mary Joyce was living at the side of the road
No halting place and no fixed abode.
The vigilantes came to the Darndale site
And they shot her son in the middle of the night.
CHORUS
Written by Ewan Mc Coll - additional verses by Christy Moore
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Henry Joy
An Ulster man I an proud to be from the Antrim Glens I come
Although I labored by the sea I have followed fife and drum
I have heard the martial tramp of men; I've seen men fight and die
Ah! lads I well remember when I followed Henry Joy
I pulled my boat up from the sea I hid my sail away
I hung my nets on a greenwood tree and I scanned the moonlit bay
The boys were out, and the Redcoats too - I kissed my wife good-bye
And in the shade of the greenwood glade, I followed Henry Joy
In Antrim Town the tyrant stood, he tore our ranks with ball
But with a cheer and a pike to clear we swept the o'er the wall
Our pikes and sabers flashed that day - we won, but lost, ah why
No matter lads, I fought beside, and shielded Henry Joy
Ah! boys, for Ireland's cause we fought, for her and home we bled
Though pikes were few still our hearts beat true, and five to one lay dead
But many a lassie mourned her lad and mother mourned her boy
For youth was strong in that gallant throng, who followed Henry Joy
In Belfast Town they built a tree, and the Redcoats mustered there
I watched them come at the beat of the drum, rolled out from the barrack square
He kissed his sister and went aloft, he bade a last good-bye
"My God, he died," sure I turned and cried, "They have murdered Henry Joy!"
Author Unknown
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El pueblo unido jamás será vencido,
El pueblo unido jamás será vencido,
el pueblo unido jamás será vencido...
- - - - - - -
The people united will never be defeated,
The people united will never be defeated…
Arise, sing
We are going to win.
Flags of unity
are now advancing.
And you will come
marching together with me,
and so you'll see
your song and your flag blossom.
The light
of a red dawn
already announces
the life to come.
Arise, fight
the people are going to win.
The life to come
will be better.
To conquer
our happiness.
and a clamor
of a thousand fighting voices will rise,
speaking
a song of freedom.
With determination
the fatherland will win.
And now the people,
who are rising in struggle
with a giant voice
crying out: Forward!
The people united will never be defeated,
The people united will never be defeated...
Written by Sergio Ortega
..................................................................................................
Tone's Grave
In Bodenstown churchyard there is a green grave,
And wildly around it the winter winds rave;
Small shelter, I ween, are the ruined walls there,
When the storm sweeps down on the plains of Kildare.
Once I lay on that sod - it lies over Wolfe Tone -
and thought how he perished in prison alone,
his friends unavenged, and his country unfree -
"Oh, bitter," I said, "is the patriot's meed!"
"For in him the heart of a woman combined
With a heroic life and a governing mind:
A martyr for Ireland - his grave has no stone,
his name seldom named, and his virtues unknown."
I was woke from my dream by the voices and tread
Of a band who came into the home of the dead;
They carried no corpse, and they carried no stone,
And they stopped when they came to the grave of Wolfe Tone.
There were students and peasants, the wise and the brave,
And an old man who knew him from cradle to grave;
And children who thought me hard hearted - for they
On that sanctified sod, were forbidden to play.
But the old man, who saw I was mourning there, said:
"We come, sir, to weep where young Wolfe Tone is laid;
And we're going to raise him a monument too -
A plain one, yet fit for the simple and true."
My heart overflowed, and I clasped his old hand,
And I blessed him, and blessed every one of his band:
"Sweet, sweet 'tis to find that such faith can remain
To the cause, and the man so long vanquished and slain!"
In Bodenstown churchyard, there is a green grave,
And freely around it, let the winter winds rave;
Far better thay suit him - the ruin and the gloom -
Till Ireland, a nation, can build him a tomb.
Written by Thomas Davis.
................................................................................
The Ballad of Joe Hill
I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
Alive as you and me
Says I “But Joe, you’re ten years dead”
“I never died” says he,
“I never died” says he.
In Salt Lake, Joe,” says I,
Him standing by my bed
“They framed you on a murder charge”
Says Joe “But I ain’t dead,”
Says Joe “But I ain’t dead.”
“The copper bosses killed you Joe,
They shot you Joe” says I
“Takes more than guns to kill a man”
Says Joe “I didn’t die,”
Says Joe “I didn’t die.”
And standing there as big as life,
And smiling with his eyes
Joe says “What they could never kill
Went on to organize,
Went on to organize.”
“Joe Hill ain’t dead” he says to me,
“Joe Hill ain’t never died
Where workingmen are out on strike
Joe Hill is at their side,
Joe Hill is at their side.”
From San Diego up to Maine,
In every mine and mill,
Where workers strike and organize,
"It's there You’ll find Joe Hill,”
"It's there You’ll find Joe Hill.”
Words by Alfred Hayes, music by Earl Robinson
...................................................................................
Men of the West
When you honor in song and in story
The names of the patriot men,
Whose valor has covered with glory
Full many a mountain and glen,
Forget not the boys of the heather
Who rallied their bravest and best
When Ireland was broken in Wexford
And looked for revenge to the West.
Chorus
I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!
The hilltops with glory were glowing
'Twas the eve of a bright harvest day,
When the ships we'd been wearily waiting
Sailed into Killala's broad bay.
And over the hills went the slogan
To awaken in every breast
The fire that has never been quenched, boys,
Among the true hearts of the West.
Chorus
Killala was ours ere the midnight,
And high over Ballina town
Our banners in triumph were waving
Before the next sun had gone down.
We gathered to speed the good work, boys
The true men from near and afar;
And history can tell how we routed
The redcoats through old Castlebar.
Chorus
And pledge me the stout sons of France, boys,
Bold Humbert and all his brave men,
Whose tramp, like the trumpet of battle,
Brought hope to the drooping again.
Since Ireland has caught to her bosom
On many a mountain and hill
The gallants who fell, so they're here, boys,
To cheer us to victory still.
Chorus
Though all the bright dreamings we cherished
Went down in disaster and woe,
The spirit of old is still with us
That never would bend to the foe.
And Connaught is ready whenever
The loud rolling tuck of the drum
Rings out to awaken the echoes
And tell us the morning has come.
Words by William Rooney
................................................................................
Allende
The nighthawk flies and the owl cries as we're driving down the road.
Listening to the music on the all night radio show,
The announcer comes on says if you've got ideas I'll file the patent for you,
What's an idea if it's not in the store makin' a buck or two.
We drive to the town but the shutters are down and the all-night restaurant's closed
Its the land of the free,we've got booze and T.V. and there's tramps in the telephone booths.
The stars and the trees and the early Spring breeze say forget what assassins have done,
Take our good soil in the palm of your hands and wait for tomorrows sun.
CHORUS.
Its a long way from the heartlands
to Santiago bay
Where the good doctor lies with blood in his eyes
and the bullets read U.S.of A.
A truck driver's wife she leads a rough life he spends his life on the road.
Carrying the goods all the copper and wood thats what makes America great,
But the dollars like swallows they fly to the South where they know they've got something to gain,
Allende is killed, and the trucks are soon rolling again.
The nighthawk flies and the owl it cries as we're driving down the road,
The full moon reveals all the houses and fields where good people do what they're told,
Victor Jara he lies with coins in his eyes there's no one around him to mourn,
Who needs a poet who won't take commands who'd rather make love then war.
CHORUS
Words by Don Lange
.....................................................................................
The Wind that Shakes the Barley
I sat within the valley green, I sat me with my true love
My sad heart strove the two between, the old love and the new love
The old for her, the new that made me think on Ireland dearly
While soft the wind blew down the glen and shook the golden barley.
'Twas hard the woeful words to frame to break the ties that bound us
But harder still to bear the shame of foreign chains around us
And so I said, "The mountain glen I'll seek at morning early
And join the bold united men, while soft winds shake the barley".
While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging
A yeoman's shot burst on our ears from out the wildwood ringing
A bullet pierced my true love's side in life's young spring so early
And on my breast in blood she died while soft winds shook the barley.
But blood for blood without remorse I've taken at Oulart Hollow
And laid my true love's clay cold corpse where I full soon may follow
As round her grave I wander drear, noon, night and morning early
With breaking heart when e'er I hear the wind that shakes the barley.
Words by Robert Dwyer Joyce
.....................................................................................
Jarama Valley
There's a valley in Spain called Jarama
It's a place that we all love so well
It was there that we gave of our manhood
Where so many of our brave comrades fell.
We are proud of the Lincoln Battalion
And the fight for Madrid that it made
There we fought like true sons of the people
As part of the Fifteenth Brigade
Now we're far from that valley of sorrow
But its memory we ne'er will forget
So before we conclude this reunion
Let us stand to our glorious dead
...............................................................................
God Bless England
I'll sing you a song of peace and love
Whack fol the diddle all the di doh day
To the land that reigns all lands above
Whack fol the diddle all the di doh day
May peace and plenty be her share
Who kept our homes from want and care
Oh God bless Mother England is our prayer
Whack fol the diddle all the di doh day
(chorus)
Whack fol the diddle all the di doh day
So we say, hip hooray
Come and listen while we pray
Whack fol the diddle all the di doh day
When we were savage, fierce and wild, whack etc.
She came like a mother to her child, whack etc.
She gently raised us from the slime
And kept our hands from hellish crime
And sent us to heaven in her own good time, whack etc.
(chorus)
Our fathers oft were naughty boys, whack etc.
For guns and pikes are dangerous toys, whack etc.
From Bearna Baol to Peter's Hill
They made poor England weep her fill
But oul' Britannia loves us still, whack etc.
(chorus)
Now Irishmen forget the past, whack etc.
And think of the time that is coming fast, whack etc.
When we shall all be civilised
Neat and clean and well-advised
Oh won't Mother England be surprised? whack etc.
(chorus)
Words by Peadar Kearney
.....................................................................................
GUANTANAMERA
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma
Chorus:
Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera
Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera
Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmin encendido
Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmin encendido
Mi verso es un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo
Chorus
I am a truthful man from this land of palm trees
Before dying I want to share these poems of my soul
My verses are light green
But they are also flaming red
(the next verse says,)
I cultivate a rose in June and in January
For the sincere friend who gives me his hand
And for the cruel one who would tear out this
heart with which I live
I do not cultivate thistles nor nettles
I cultivate a white rose
Cultivo la rosa blanca
En junio como en enero
Qultivo la rosa blanca
En junio como en enero
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca
Chorus
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazon con que vivo
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazon con que vivo
Cardo ni ortiga cultivo
Cultivo la rosa blanca
Chorus
Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar
Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar
El arroyo de la sierra
Me complace mas que el mar
Chorus
Original music by Jose Fernandez Diaz
based on a poem by Jose Marti
...................................................................................
Óró, Sé do Bheatha 'Bhaile
(Chorus)
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile,
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile,
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.
'Sé do bheatha, a bhean ba léanmhar,
Do b' é ár gcreach tú bheith i ngéibheann,
Do dhúiche bhreá i seilbh méirleach,
Is tú díolta leis na Gallaibh.
Chorus
Tá Gráinne Mhaol ag teacht thar sáile,
Óglaigh armtha léi mar gharda,
Gaeil iad féin is ní Gaill ná Spáinnigh,
Is cuirfidh siad ruaig ar Ghallaibh.
Chorus
A bhuí le Rí na bhFeart go bhfeiceann,
mura mbim beo ina dhiaidh ach seachtain,
Gráinne Mhaol agus míle gaiscíoch,
ag fógairt féin ar Ghallaibh.
Chorus
Words by Padraig Pearse
.......................................................................................
Bella ciao
Una mattina mi sono svegliato,
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
Una mattina mi sono svegliato,
e ho trovato l'invasor.
O partigiano, portami via,
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
O partigiano, portami via,
ché mi sento di morir.
E se io muoio da partigiano,
(E se io muoio sulla montagna)
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
E se io muoio da partigiano,
(E se io muoio sulla montagna)
tu mi devi seppellir.
E seppellire lassù in montagna,
(E tu mi devi seppellire)
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
E seppellire lassù in montagna,
(E tu mi devi seppellire)
sotto l'ombra di un bel fior.
Tutte le genti che passeranno,
(E tutti quelli che passeranno)
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
Tutte le genti che passeranno,
(E tutti quelli che passeranno)
Mi diranno «Che bel fior!»
(E poi diranno «Che bel fior!»)
«È questo il fiore del partigiano»,
(E questo è il fiore del partigiano)
o bella, ciao! bella, ciao! bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!
«È questo il fiore del partigiano,
(E questo è il fiore del partigiano)
morto per la libertà!»
(che e' morto per la liberta')
...............................................................................
A Nation Once Again
When boyhood's fire was in my blood
I read of ancient freemen,
For Greece and Rome who bravely stood,
Three hundred men and three men;
And then I prayed I yet might see
Our fetters rent in twain,
And Ireland, long a province, be.
A Nation once again!
A Nation once again,
A Nation once again,
And lreland, long a province, be
A Nation once again!
And from that time, through wildest woe,
That hope has shone a far light,
Nor could love's brightest summer glow
Outshine that solemn starlight;
It seemed to watch above my head
In forum, field and fane,
Its angel voice sang round my bed,
A Nation once again!
It whisper'd too, that freedom's ark
And service high and holy,
Would be profaned by feelings dark
And passions vain or lowly;
For, Freedom comes from God's right hand,
And needs a Godly train;
And righteous men must make our land
A Nation once again!
So, as I grew from boy to man,
I bent me to that bidding
My spirit of each selfish plan
And cruel passion ridding;
For, thus I hoped some day to aid,
Oh, can such hope be vain ?
When my dear country shall be made
A Nation once again!
Words by Thomas Davis
................................................................................
THE CIVIL WAR IN SPAIN
Who will call the meetings now? Who will take the chair?
Who will call us out on strike,to demand our equal share?
Danny dear old Danny, in Belfast won't remain,
For he's gone to fight the fascists in the civil war in Spain.
Hitler sent the bombers, Mussolini sent big guns,
Mother Church sent curses on her daughters and her sons.
The people armed with sticks and stones, against the tanks that came,
And they drove back Franco's armies, to the city once again.
They came from many countries to fight and save Madrid.
No-one knows just how you held but the whole world knows that you did.
They fought to make us equal, to win back rich man's gains
And they died in bloody trenches in the civil war in Spain.
You fought well at Jarama, in Aragon as well.
On the plains of old Cordova, sure they blew you all to hell.
You crossed the Ebro River, your blood, the banks did stain.
Erin lost her fighting men at the civil war in Spain.
CHORUS
They fought to make us equal, to win back the rich man's gains
And they died in bloody trenches in the civil war in Spain.
Thomas Lynch from Dublin, Danny Boyle from Belfast town,
David Walshe from Ballina, sure they fell on Spanish ground.
Kit Conway, Tipperary, Mickey Kelly from Ballinasloe ,
Frank Ryan taken prisoner, sure he never would come home.
CHORUS
They fought to make us equal, to win back the rich man's gains
And they died in bloody trenches in the civil war in Spain.
And the fascist bullets won't permit dear Danny to return.
This fateful loss we Belfast folk will never cease to mourn.
Well they fought for the Connolly Column, the brave Fifteenth Brigade.
Danny died for our freedom in the civil war in Spain.
CHORUS
They fought to make us equal, to win back the rich man's gains
And they died in bloody trenches in the civil war in Spain.
Written by Joe Mulheron
................................................................................
BREAD AND ROSES
If we don’t have our dreams
What do we live for ?
If we don’t have our dreams, What did James Connolly die for
Chorus:
Look up the sky is burning,
With blood that workers shed,
And we’ll carry on the battle,
For roses and bread.
Oh bread and roses,
Roses and bread,
We’ll carry on the battle,
For roses and bread.
He was born to organise,
That what James Larkin lived for,
For being a union man,
That’s what Joe Hill was killed for.
Chorus
With dreams in solid steel,
That’s what Mandela lived for,
For dreaming of what might be,
That’s what Allende died for.
Chorus
Let's dream that dream of dreams,
Of life without sorrow,
And maybe our dreams
Can build a new tomorrow.
Chorus
Words by Martin Whelan
..................................................................................
The Foggy Dew
As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound it's loud tatoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out through the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud-El-Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew
'Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that “small nations might be free”
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the shore of the Great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their graves we’d keep where the fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew
But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the springing of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew
Ah, back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, When you fell in the foggy dew.
Words by Charles O’Neill
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
VIVA LA QUINCE BRIGADA
Viva la quince brigada,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
Viva la quince brigada,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
Que se ha cubierto de gloria.
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Que se ha cubierto de gloria.
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Luchamos contra los moros,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
Luchamos contra los moros,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
Mercenarios y fascistas.
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Mercenarios y fascistas.
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Solo es nuestro deseo,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
Solo es nuestro deseo,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
Acabar con el fascismo.
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Acabar con el fascismo.
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
En los frentes de Jarama,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
En los frentes de Jarama,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
No tenemos ni aviones,
Ni tanques, ti cañones.
No tenemos ni aviones,
Ni tanques, ti cañones.
Ya salimos de España,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
Ya salimos de España,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
A luchar en otros frentes,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
A luchar en otros frentes,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tri-Coloured Ribbon
I had a true love if ever a girl had one
I had a true love a brave lad was he
One fine Easter Monday with his gallant comrades
He started away for to make Ireland free
For all around my hat I wear a tri-coloured ribbon, oh
All around my hat until death comes to me
And if anybody's asking me why do I wear it
It's all for my true love I never more will see
He whispered "Goodbye love, old Ireland is calling
High over Dublin our Tri-colour flies
In the streets of the city the foe man is falling
And wee birds are whistling "Old Ireland arise"
For all around my hat I wear a tri-coloured ribbon, oh
All around my hat until death comes to me
And if anybody's asking me why do I wear it
It's all for my true love I never more will see
In praying and watching the dark hours passed over
The roar of the guns brought no message to me
I prayed for Old Ireland, I prayed for my lover
That he might be safe and Old Ireland be free
For all around my hat I wear a tri-coloured ribbon, oh
All around my hat until death comes to me
And if anybody's asking me why do I wear it
It's all for my true love I never more will see
The struggle was ended, they brought me the story
The last whispered message he sent unto me
"I was true to my land, love, I fought for her glory
And gave up my life for to make Ireland free"
For all around my hat I wear a tri-coloured ribbon, oh
All around my hat until death comes to me
And if anybody's asking me why do I wear it
It's all for my true love I never more will see
Words by Peader Kearney
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Victor Jara
Victor Jara of Chile lived like a shooting star
He fought for the people of Chile with his songs and his guitar
His hands were gentle and his hands were strong
Victor was a peasant boy barely six years old
When he sat upon his father's plough and watched the earth unfold
When the neighbours had a wedding or one of their children died
His mother sang all night to them with Victor by her side
He grew up to be a fighter stood against what was wrong
He learned of peoples grief and joy and turned it into song
He sang for the copper miners and those who farmed the land
He sang for the factory workers they knew Victor was their man
He campaigned for Allende canvassed night and day
Singing take hold of your brother's hand the future starts today
When Pinochet seized Chile they arrested Victor then -
They caged him in the stadium with 5000 frightened men
Victor picked up his guitar his voice resounded strong
And he sang for his comrades till the guards cut short his song
They broke the bones in both his hands and beat him on the head
Tortured him with electric wires then they shot him dead
Victor Jara of Chile lived like a shooting star
He fought for the people of Chile with his songs and his guitar
His hands were gentle and his hands were strong
Words by Adrian Mitchell.
.............................................................................................................................
SOLIDARITY FOREVER
When the union's inspiration through the workers' blood shall run,
There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun;
Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one,
But the union makes us strong.
CHORUS:
Solidarity forever,
Solidarity forever,
Solidarity forever,
For the union makes us strong.
Is there aught we hold in common with the greedy parasite,
Who would lash us into serfdom and would crush us with his might?
Is there anything left to us but to organize and fight?
For the union makes us strong.
Chorus
It is we who plowed the prairies; built the cities where they trade;
Dug the mines and built the workshops, endless miles of railroad laid;
Now we stand outcast and starving midst the wonders we have made;
But the union makes us strong.
Chorus
All the world that's owned by idle drones is ours and ours alone.
We have laid the wide foundations; built it skyward stone by stone.
It is ours, not to slave in, but to master and to own.
While the union makes us strong.
Chorus
They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn,
But without our brain and muscle not a single wheel can turn.
We can break their haughty power, gain our freedom when we learn
That the union makes us strong.
Chorus
In our hands is placed a power greater than their hoarded gold,
Greater than the might of armies, magnified a thousand-fold.
We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old
For the union makes us strong.
Words by Ralph Chaplin
.......................................................................................................................................
Rachel (Rachel Corrie)
Come listen you fine people to a story cold
About young Rachel Corrie, 23 years old
From Olympia in Washington Rachel Corrie came
A bright young girl about to learn a world of hurt and pain
Rachel knew atrocities were committed in her name
She knew the U.S. government had a share in all the blame
International solidarity called her from afar
TO a land of death and misery, to a place they call Rafah
Chorus;
Pappa don't you worry, mamma I'm ok
I'm over here in Palestine and I'll be back some day
The Palestinian people are so thoughtful and so kind
I'll feel so guilty when I go and leave them all behind
For seven weeks she risked her life defending people's homes
Trying to break down barriers in Israel's no go zones
Tom Hurndall we'll remember you for trying to do the same
Your pictures of the conflict tell the world of Sharon's shame
One morning Israel'a army came to hgh Salam
To bulldoze Palestinian homes to make way for ther plans
Rachel Corrie pleaded, she tried to talk them round
But the driver in a bulldozer mowed young Rachel down
I didn't know you Rachel, but I know what you stand for
You are an inspiration to end all bloody war
I hope the world will realize the reasons why you died
Equality, fraternity, for liberty and pride.
Words by Pol Mac Adaim
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Giveaway
We'd like to apologise from this land green and fair
For bringing on this worldwide recession
It wasn't our intention, we just partied on
And now we've gone and made a bad impression
So to governments and corporations,
we'd like to make a small donation
Just to heal this economic rift
So that we may make amends
And please our European friends
We'll give you our whole nation as a gift
Would you like a piece of our country?
To do with as you please?
Pillage it and plunder it
Shatter all that's under it
Shake up some benzene?
Some people say we oughta stop you poisoning the water
But some people don't have a say
So if you'd like a piece of our country
We're just giving it away
Would you like a stretch of our ocean?
You got nothing to lose
Forget about those hippie types
Just bury those high pressure pipes
Anywhere you choose
Don't worry if the locals get a little vocal
We'll send in the boys in blue
So if you'd like a stretch of our ocean
Just take it, its all for you
How about a few of our children?
We can't afford to feed them no more
We'll educate them and flouridate them
And fly them to your shore
Now you might think the nation
would resent this deportation
But there's nothing they can do
So if you'd like a few of our children
Just take them, they're all for you
(Instrumental)
Would you like a slice of our heaven?
You could fly your warplanes there?
Drop in for a snack on your way to Iraq
To get around neutrality, we'll call it hospitality
We don't really want to know what happens in Guantanemo
That's none of our affair
So if you'd like a slice of our heaven,
You can fly your warplanes there
Or how about a little investment?
Come on and take a punt or two
Even if you lose, we'll tax the fools
And pay it all back to you
Now you might think the nation
Would protest this subjugation
But really, there's just a few
So if you'd like a piece of my country,
If you want a stretch of our ocean
A few of our children
A slice of our heaven
A whole damn nation
Just take it
We'll give it away to you.
Words by Mick Blake
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Lion in a Cage
The Veld is burning in the African sun
Black blood flows from the white man’s gun
Locked in a jail for twenty five years
Held like a lion in a cage of tears
Mandella will be free
Mandella will be free, mandella Nelson Mandella
People in Sharpville and Soweto born
Mandella will be free
Living with the lash of the white man’s scorn
Mandella will be free
Sweating in the dungeon of the diamond mine
Mandella will be free
Blood was shed on the picket line
Mandella will be free.
The lion is ready for victory
Mandella will be free
To lead the people to their destiny
Mandella will be free
No prison bars in Pretoria
Mandella will be free
Can hold back the storm in Africa
Mandella will be free.
The time of truth is in his eyes
Mandella will be free
His words tear down the veil of lies
Mandella will be free
The world hears the beat of the talking drum
Mandella will be free
The time for Africa has come
Mandella will be free.
Words by John Faulkner
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Where is our James Connolly ?
Where oh where is our James Connolly
Where oh where is that gallant man
He is gone to organise the Union
That working men they may yet be free.
Then who then who will lead the van
Then who then who will lead the van
Who but our James Connolly
The hero of the working man.
Where oh where is the Citizen Army
Where oh where is that gallant band
They've gone to join the great rebellion
That working men they might yet be free.
Who will carry high the burning flag
Who will carry high the burning flag
Who but our James Connolly
Could carry high the burning flag.
They carried him up to the jail
They carried him up to the jail
And they shot him down on a bright May morning
And quickly laid him in his grave.
Who mourns the death of this great man
Who mourns the death of this great man
Oh bury me down in yon green garden
With union men on every side.
So they buried him down in yon green garden
With union men on every side
They swore they would form a mighty union
That James Connolly's name might be filled with pride.
Where oh where is our James Connolly
Where oh where is that gallant man
He is gone to organise the Union
That working men they may yet be free.
Words by Patrick Galvin
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An Phailistín
Leathchéad bliain faoi riail Iosraelaigh,
Scaipeadh 's fann ar na milliúin teaghlaigh,
Brón 's briseadh croí,
Mo bhrón mo Phailistín.
An Phailistín, an Phailistín, mo Phailistín,
Hosni alaikum ya Falastin,
Hosni alaiki ya Falastin.
Lá agus oíche mar a cheile,
Mná ag caoineadh 's paistí ag scréachaíl,
Síon ón F16,
Marú ar gach taobh.
Dhá bhliain fhada de Intifada,
Caitheadh cloch sa Bhruach Thiar 's i nGaza,
Seasta ar pháirc an áir,
Gan brat ná pas le fáil.
An Phailistín, an Phailistín, mo Phailistín,
Hosni alaikum ya Falastin,
Hosni alaiki ya Falastin.
An talamh naofa shiúil an leanbh Íosa,
Fáithe Abrahám 's Maoise,
Mahamad ó mo bhrón,
Scriosta ag Sharon.
Iarúsailéim, dúirt Íosa Críost,
Nach bhfágfaidh cloch ar chloch, is fíor,
Tairngreacht ag teacht chun cinn,
Mo bhrón mo Phailistín.
An Phailistín, an Phailistín, mo Phailistín,
Hosni alaikum ya Falastin,
Hosni alaiki ya Falastin.
Words by Róisín Elsafty