| Oh, father why are you so sad
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| On this bright Easter morn'
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| When Irish men are proud and glad
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| Of the land that they were born?
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| Oh, son, I see in mem’ries few
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| Of far off distant days
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| When being just a lad like you
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| I joined the IRA
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| Where are the lads that stood with me
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| When history was made?
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| A Ghra Mo Chroi, I long to see
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| The boys of the old brigade
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| From hills and farms a call to arms
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| Was heard by one and all
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| And from the glen came brave young men
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| To answer Ireland’s call
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| €˜T wasn’t long ago we faced a foe
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| The old brigade and me
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| And by my side they fought and died
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| That Ireland might be free
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| Where are the lads that stood with me
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| When history was made?
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| A Ghra Mo Chroi, I long to see
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| The boys of the old brigade
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| And now, my boy, I’ve told you why
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| On Easter morn' I sigh
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| For I recall my comrades all
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| And dark old days gone by
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| I think of men who fought in glen
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| With rifle and grenade
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| May heaven keep the men who sleep
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| From the ranks of the old brigade |