| Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,
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| For the love of one’s country is a terrible thing.
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| It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
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| And it makes us all part of the patriot game.
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| My name is O’Hanlon, and I’ve just turned sixteen.
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| My home is in Monaghan, where I was weaned.
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| I learned all my life cruel England to blame,
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| So now I am part of the patriot game.
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| This Ireland of ours has too long been half free;
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| Six counties lie under John Bull’s tyranny.
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| But still De Valera is greatly to blame,
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| For shirking his part in the Patriot game.
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| They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair,
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| His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare.
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| His fine body twisted, all battered and lame,
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| They soon made me part of the patriot game.
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| It’s nearly two years since I wandered away,
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| With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
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| I’ve read of our heroes, and I wanted the same,
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| To play out my part in the patriot game.
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| (extra verse I found)
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| I don’t mind a bit if I shoot down police,
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| They are lackeys for war never guardians of peace,
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| And yet at deserters I’m never let aim,
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| The rebels who sold out the patriot game.
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| And now as I lie (or: die) here, my body all holes (or: holed),
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| I think of those traitors who bargained in souls,
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| And I wish that my (air) rifle had given the same,
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| To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game. |