| Oh the boys of Dublin’s Donaghmede
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| Come to hear their boxer sing
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| To tell the stories of their streets
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| To quell their suffering
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| They say let me go another round
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| And never take it laying down
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| 'Cause in my heart I know
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| I’m strong enough to grow
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| Damo sing another song
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| For all the sons of fisticuffs
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| For the daughters of the truncheon
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| Damo sing a song of love
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| What do I know of Ireland
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| Except what made it here
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| Through the ports, into the hills
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| A whistle and a jig
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| They worked the fields, they worked the rails
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| And sang the songs of slaves
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| To keep the chains from binding on
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| To keep their bodies brave
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| Damo sing another song
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| For all the sons of toil and tug
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| For the daughters of the weary road
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| Damo sing a song of love
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| So gather round and bear this ground
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| While your brothers sweat and swing
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| Or hold each other for their life
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| In their love and in their rage
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| Sing of tribes and ties that bind
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| And sing yourself anew
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| Yeah the Dog of war, Lamb of God
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| The spirit is in you
|
| Damo sing another song
|
| For all the sons of fisticuffs
|
| For the daughters of the truncheon
|
| Damo sing a song of love
|
| Damo sing another song
|
| For all the sons of toil and tug
|
| For the daughters of the weary road
|
| Damo sing a song of love |