| She bore half a ton o' sons & had to bury all but one
|
| Who’s locked away in prison for not takin' up his gun
|
| Now all she has to comfort her from this day to her last
|
| Are a box of old white feathers some lumps o' brass
|
| Home rule! |
| (Keep 'em at home) rule
|
| Put pressure where it bleeds
|
| We’re rippin' out the roses with the weeds
|
| She sings 'keep yer boys at home by fires warm & bright
|
| Let the generals look stupid when there’s no one there to fight
|
| Let 'em sort it out among 'emselves, or kill each other tryin'
|
| So that better men than they are kept from dyin"
|
| Home rule! |
| (Keep 'em at home) rule
|
| Put pressure where it bleeds
|
| We’re rippin' out the roses with the weeds
|
| The walls are all bruised with the damp
|
| The curtains are drawn all 'round
|
| There’s great piles o' leaves, paint flakes from the eaves
|
| Where they’ve hung like her poor worried brow
|
| «Oh where did you go to my lovely?
|
| This house is no longer a home
|
| It’ll rot like a shell each day you’re in hell
|
| Oh why’d you go leave me alone?"
|
| Their pictures hang crooked, no glass in the frame
|
| They’ve been stuck back together though they’re never the same
|
| «Choked wi' pride
|
| I’m buckled with shame!»
|
| Home rule! |
| (Keep 'em at home) rule
|
| Put pressure where it bleeds
|
| We’re rippin' out the roses with the weeds
|
| Home rule! |
| (Keep 'em at home) rule
|
| Put pressure where it bleeds
|
| We’re rippin' out the roses
|
| We’re rippin' out the roses
|
| We’re rippin' out the roses with the weeds |