| Oh. |
| Paddy dear and did you hear the news that’s goin' round?
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| The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground.
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| St. Patrick’s Day no more will keep his colour can’t be seen
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| For they hangin' men and women for the wearing of the green.
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| I met with Napper tandy and he took me by the hand.
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| He said: «How's dear old Ireland and how does she stand?»
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| She’s the most distressful country that you have ever seen
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| For they’re hanging men and women for the wearing of the green.
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| CHORUS
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| For the wearing of the green, for the wearing of the green
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| They’re hanging men and women for the wearing of the green.
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| And if the colour we must wear is england’s cruel red,
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| Shure Ireland sons will ne’er forget the blood that they have shed.
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| You may take the shamrock from your hat and cast it down the sod,
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| 'Twill take all root and flourish there, tho' under foot 'tis trod.
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| My father loved his country and sweeped from in 'is breast,
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| But I had one they died for her must never soul be blessed.
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| Most tears me mother shad for me, how’d bitter they had been,
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| But I had proved the traitor for the wearing of the green.
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| And if at last our coloured shirt be thorn from Ireland’s heart,
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| Her sons would shame and sorrow for the dear old my wound heart.
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| I hear the whisper of the land that lies me on the sea,
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| Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom’s day.
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| Oh, Ireland, must believe you driven high from tyrant’s hand,
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| And see come mother’s blessing from the strange and distant land,
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| Where the cruel cross of england shall never more be seen,
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| And in that land we live and die still wearing Ireland’s green |