We all [G] know who fears to speak of the [C] men of Easter [G] week,
When our heroes marched down [Em] in the foggy [D] dew,
But the [G] leaders of the state think the [C] cause is out of [G] date,
They're em[Em]barassed by our [D] heroes brave and [G] true.
Oh [G] Don't sing now of Cathal Brugha,
[D] Who'll save poor old Ireland now?
The Dail is [G] sitting on the fence incase the [C] English take [G] offence,
And it's [Em] God help [D] poor old Ireland [G] now.
You can rewrite history's page for the European age,
You could suit both men of Gael and men of Foil,
Say Saint Patrick never came, and the snakes they still remain,
They slither on their bellies through the Dail.
Sure the British they were grand to leave out the Black and Tans,
Forget old Cromwell and the Paras too,
Just to raise Mac Sweeneys name without Cork cities flames,
You can change the flag back to red, white and blue.
So cover up the GPO so the bullet holes don't show,
Pearse and Connolly are turning in their graves,
But you can't bury Ireland's pride with the men who fought an died,
For without it's roots a nation cannot grow.