SONG/AUDIO/VIDEO



Back Home In Derry

The Rhythm of Time

McIlhatton

Song For Marcella

Forever In My Mind

Ninety Miles From Dublin

No time for Love

On The Blanket

Take Me Home To Mayo

The Armagh Women

The Boy From Tamlaghtduff

The People’s Own MP

The Time Has Come

The H-Block Song

The Ballad of Joe McDonnell

Bobby Sands MP

A Sad Song for Susie

The Ballad of Mairead Farrell

The Ballad of Bobby Sands

The Roll of Honour

The Men Behind The Wire

Only Our Rivers Run Free

Our Lads In Crumlin Jail

James Connolly

Kevin Barry

Four Green Fields

The Auld Triangle

Bobby

International Songs of Struggle

Free Nelson Madela

Mandela Day

Biko

Joe Hill

I’ve Got To Know

La zamba del Ché

Victor Jara

De mi pueblo para la guerrilla

Back Home In Derry

– by Christy Moore, words by Bobby Sands

In 1803 we sailed out to sea

Out from the sweet town of Derry

For Australia bound if we didn’t all drown

And the marks of our fetters we carried.

In the rusty iron chains we sighed for our wains

As our good wives we left in sorrow.

As the mainsails unfurled our curses we hurled

On the English and thoughts of tomorrow.

Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry.

Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry.

I cursed them to hell as our bow fought the swell.

Our ship danced like a moth in the firelights.

White horses rode high as the devil passed by

Taking souls to Hades by twilight.

Five weeks out to sea we were now forty-three

Our comrades we buried each morning.

In our own slime we were lost in a time.

Endless night without dawning.

Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry.

Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry.

Van Dieman’s land is a hell for a man

To live out his life in slavery.

When the climate is raw and the gun makes the law.

Neither wind nor rain cares for bravery.

Twenty years have gone by and I’ve ended me bond

And comrades’ ghosts are behind me.

A rebel I came and I’ll die the same.

On the cold winds of night you will find me

Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry.

Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry.

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The Rhythm of Time

– by Damien Dempsey, words by Bobby Sands



There’s an inner thing in every man,

Do you know this thing my friend?

It has withstood the blows of a million years,

And will do so to the end.

It was born when time did not exist,

And it grew up out of life,

It cut down evil’s strangling vines,

Like a slashing searing knife.

It lit fires when fires were not,

And burnt the mind of man,

Tempering leadened hearts to steel,

From the time that time began.

It wept by the waters of Babylon,

And when all men were a loss,

It screeched in writhing agony,

And it hung bleeding from the Cross.

It died in Rome by lion and sword,

And in defiant cruel array,

When the deathly word was ‘Spartacus’

Along the Appian Way.

It marched with Wat the Tyler’s poor,

And frightened lord and king,

And it was emblazoned in their deathly stare,

As e’er a living thing.

It smiled in holy innocence,

Before conquistadors of old,

So meek and tame and unaware,

Of the deathly power of gold.

It burst forth through pitiful Paris streets,

And stormed the old Bastille,

And marched upon the serpent’s head,

And crushed it ‘neath its heel.

It died in blood on Buffalo Plains,

And starved by moons of rain,

Its heart was buried in Wounded Knee,

But it will come to rise again.

It screamed aloud by Kerry lakes,

As it was knelt upon the ground,

And it died in great defiance,

As they coldly shot it down.

It is found in every light of hope,

It knows no bounds nor space

It has risen in red and black and white,

It is there in every race.

It lies in the hearts of heroes dead,

It screams in tyrants’ eyes,

It has reached the peak of mountains high,

It comes searing ‘cross the skies.

It lights the dark of this prison cell,

It thunders forth its might,

It is ‘the undauntable thought’, my friend,

That thought that says ‘I’m right!’

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McIlhatton

– by Christy Moore, words by Bobby Sands, music by Bik McFarlane

In Glenravel’s Glen there lives a man whom some would call a god

For he could cure your shakes with a bottle of his stuff would cost you thirty bob

Come winter, summer, frost all over, a jiggin’ Spring on the breeze

In the dead of night a man steps by, “McIlhatton, if you please”

McIlhatton, you blurt, we need you, cry a million shaking men

Where are your sacks of barley, will your likes be seen again?

Here’s a jig to the man and a reel to the drop and a swing to the girl he loves

May your fiddle play and poitín cure your company up above

There’s a wisp of smoke to the south of the Glen and the poitín is on the air

The birds in the burrows and the rabbits in the sky and there’s drunkards everywhere

At Skerries Rock the fox is out and begod he’s chasing the hounds

And the only thing in decent shape is buried beneath the ground

McIlhatton, you blurt, we need you, cry a million shaking men

Where are your sacks of barley, will your likes be seen again?

Here’s a jig to the man and a reel to the drop and a swing to the girl he loves

May your fiddle play and poitín cure your company up above

At McIlhatton’s house the fairies are out and dancing on the hobs

The goat’s collapsed and the dog has run away and there’s salmon down the bogs

He has a million gallons of wash and the peelers are on the Glen

But they’ll never catch that hackler cos he’s not comin’ home again

McIlhatton you blurt we need you, cry a million shaking men

Where are your sacks of barley, will your likes be seen again?

Here’s a jig to the man and a reel to the drop and a swing to the girl he loves

May your fiddle play and poitín cure your company up above

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Song For Marcella

– by Brendan “Bik” McFarlane music by John Gorka

Doesn’t seem quite so long ago,

The last time that I saw you,

Ain’t it funny how the memories grow,

They always fold around you,

They tried to break you in a living hell,

But they couldn’t find a way,

So they killed you in a H-Block cell,

And hoped that all would turn away,

Thought that your spirit couldn’t rise again

But it dared to prove them wrong,

And in death you tore away the chains,

And let the world hear Freedom’s Song

Yet the heartache and pain linger on,

They’re still here though its so long since you have gone,

But we’re stronger now you showed us how,

How freedom fight can be won

I wish there was an easy road to chose,

To bring the heartache to an end,

But easy roads are always sure to lose,

I’ve seen that time and time again,

If you can stand by me like yesterday,

I’ll find the strength to carry on,

So let your spirit shine along the way,

And our day will surely come

Yet the heartache and pain linger on,

They’re still here though its so long since you have gone,

But we’re stronger now you showed us how,

How freedom fight can be won, if we all stand as one

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Forever In My Mind

– by Christy Moore

O’Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands,

Doherty and Lynch

McDonnell, Hurson, McIlwee, Devine

Darkened years of winter have passed

Summer waits for spring before it lives

Blanket clad and wasted the winter has been long

No gleam of hope a thoughtless nation gives

In silence we walked through the streets

As one by one our hunger strikers died.

O’Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands,

Doherty and Lynch

McDonnell, Hurson, McIlwee, Devine

Their memory is forever in my mind

Pictures of their faces in my eyes

My sorrow and grief will not subside

And my love for them I will not disguise

In silence we walked through the streets

As one by one our hunger strikers died.

O’Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands,

Doherty and Lynch

McDonnell, Hurson, McIlwee, Devine

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Ninety Miles From Dublin Town



– by Christy Moore

I’m ninety miles from Dublin town

I’m in an H-Block cell

To help you understand me plight

This story now I’ll tell

I’m on the blanket protest

My efforts must not fail

For I’m joined by men and women

In the Kesh and Armagh jail

It all began one morning

I was dragged to Castlereagh

And though it was three years ago

It seems like yesterday

For three days kicked and beaten

I then was forced to sign

Confessions that convicted me

Of deeds that were not mine

Sentenced in a Diplock Court

My protest it began

I could not wear this prison gear

I was a blanket man

I’ll not accept their status

I’ll not be criminalised

That’s the issue in the blocks

For which we give our lives

Over there in London town

Oh how they’d laugh and sneer

If they could only make us wear

Their loathsome prison gear

Prisoners of war that’s what we are

And that we must remain

The blanket protest cannot end

Till status we regain

I’ve been beaten round the romper room

Because I won’t say ‘Sir’

I’ve been frogmarched down the landing

And dragged back by the hair

I’ve suffered degradation

Humility and pain

Still the spirit does not falter

British torture is in vain

I’ve been held in scalding water

While me back with deck scrubs was tore

I’ve been scratched and cut from head to foot

Then thrown out on the floor

I’ve suffered mirror searches

Been probed by drunken bears

I’ve heard me comrades cry and scream

Then utter useless prayers

Now with the news that’s coming in

Our protest must not fail

For now we’re joined by thirty girls

In Armagh’s women’s jail

So pay attention Irishmen

And Irish women too

And show the Free State rulers that

Their silence will not do

Though it’s ninety miles from Dublin town

It seems so far away

There’s more attention to our plight

In the USA

Now you’ve heard the story

Of this filthy living hell

Remember ninety miles away

I’m still in an H-Block cell

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No time for Love

– Performed by Christy Moore & Declan Sinnott, written by Jack Warshaw

You call it the law, we call it apartheid, internment, conscription, partition and silence.

It’s the law that they make to keep you and me where they think we belong.

The hide behind steel and bullet-proof glass, machine guns and spies,

And tell us who suffer the tear gas and the torture that we’re in the wrong.

No time for love if they come in the morning,

No time to show tears or for fears in the morning,

No time for goodbye, no time to ask why,

And the sound of the siren’s the cry of the morning.

They suffered the torture they rotted in cells, went crazy, wrote letters and died.

The limits of pain they endured – the loneliness got them instead.

And the courts gave them justice as justice is given by well-mannered thugs.

Sometimes they fought for the will to survive but more times they just wished they were dead.

They took away Sacco, Vanzetti, Connolly and Pearce in their time.

They came for Newton and Seal, Bobby Sands and some of his friends.

In Boston, Chicago, Saigon, Santiago, Warsaw and Belfast,

And places that never make headlines, the list never ends.

No time for love if they come in the morning,

No time to show tears or for fears in the morning,

No time for goodbye, no time to ask why,

And the sound of the siren’s the cry of the morning.

The boys in blue are only a few of the everyday cops on the beat,

The C.I.D., Branchmen, informers and spies do their jobs just as well;

Behind them the men who tap phones, take photos, program computers and files,

And the man who tells them when to come and take you to your cell.

No time for love if they come in the morning,

No time to show tears or for fears in the morning,

No time for goodbye, no time to ask why,

And the sound of the siren’s the cry of the morning.

All of you people who give to your sisters and brothers the will to fight on,

They say you can get used to a war, that doesn’t mean that the war isn’t on.

The fish need the sea to survive, just like your people need you.

And the death squad can only get through to them if first they can get through to you.

No time for love if they come in the morning,

No time to show tears or for fears in the morning,

No time for goodbye, no time to ask why,

And the sound of the siren’s the cry of the morning.

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On The Blanket

– by Christy Moore [song by Mick Hanly]

The truth comes hard as the cold rain

On your face in the heat of the storm

And the stories I’m hearing would shock you

To believe that such deeds can go on

You can starve men and take all their clothing

You can beat them up till they fall

You can break up the bodies but never the spirit

Of those on the blanket

The truth must be told so I’ll tell it

It all began five years ago

Ciaran Nugent refused to be branded

A criminal and to wear prison clothes

They threw him out naked to H-Block

And spat out filthy abuse

And they left him awake till the cold light of day

With only a blanket

England, your sins are not over

The H-Block still stands in your name

And though many voices have cried out to you

It’s still your shame

If we stay silent we’re guilty

While these men lie naked and cold

In H-Block tonight remember the fight

Of those on the blanket

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Take Me Home To Mayo

– by Christy Moore [Song by Seamus Robinson]

Take me home to Mayo, across the Irish Sea;

Home to dear old Mayo, where once I roamed so free.

Take me home to Mayo, there let my body lie;

Home at last in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

My name is Michael Gaughan, from Ballina I came;

I saw my people suffering and swore to break their chain –

I raised the flag in England, prepared to fight or die –

Far away from Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

Take me home to Mayo, across the Irish Sea;

Home to dear old Mayo, where once I roamed so free.

Take me home to Mayo, there let my body lie;

Home at last in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

My body cold and hungry, in Parkhurst Gaol I lie;

For loving of my country, on hunger strike I die –

I have just one last longing, I pray you’ll not deny –

Bury me in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

Take me home to Mayo, across the Irish Sea;

Home to dear old Mayo, where once I roamed so free.

Take me home to Mayo, there let my body lie;

Home at last in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

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The Armagh Women

– by Christy Moore

In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha

Last February in the grey cold jail

The Governor Scott in his savage fury

Came down to break the women’s will

Forty jailers my forty jailers

From the hell of Long Kesh came down

And help me break these warrior women

The forty jailers put on their armour

Strapped on their helmets took up their shields

Then they beat the Armagh women they beat them down

They were sure they’d yield

Three days he kept them locked up in darkness

Locked up in filth you would not believe

When he released them he was so conceited

That one and all he thought they would yield

If you have suffered he smilingly said

It never happened it was all just a dream

Come out come out and obey my orders

But the Armagh women they would never yield

They’d never yield to Scott the governor

They’d never yield till they broke him down

He and his jailers were all locked in prison

By the women of Armagh jail

And there they remain those warrior women

Locked up in filth you would not believe

They hold Scott and his warders powerless

They hold them there, they’ll never concede

Women of Ireland stand up and declare

Women of Ireland understand your power

Make us see that together we’ll do it

We’ll tumble down their stone grey tower

In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha

Last February in a cold grey cell

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The Boy From Tamlaghtduff

– by Christy Moore

As I walked through the Glenshane Pass I heard a young girl mourn

”The boy from Tamlaghtduff,” she cried, “is two years dead and gone”

How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose

Oh I’ll never see the likes again of my young Francis Hughes

For many years his exploits were a thorn in England’s side

The hills and glens became his home there he used to hide

Once when they surrounded him he quietly slipped away

Like a fox he went to ground and kept the dogs at bay

Moving round the countryside he often made the news

But they could never lay their hands on my brave Francis Hughes

Finally they wounded him and captured him at last

From the countryside he loved they took him to Belfast

Oh from Musgrave Park to the Crumlin Road and then to an H-Block cell

He went straight on the blanket then on hunger strike as well

His will to win they could never break no matter what they tried

He fought them every day he lived and he fought them as he died

As I walked through the Glenshane Pass I heard a young girl mourn

”The boy form Tamlaghtduff.” she cried, “is two years dead and gone”

How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose

Oh I’ll never see the likes again of my young Francis Hughes

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The People’s Own MP

– by Christy Moore

How many more must die now, how many must we lose

Before the island people their own destiny can choose?

From immortal Robert Emmet to Bobby Sands M.P

Who was given 30,000 votes while in captivity

No more he’ll hear the larks sweet notes upon the Ulster air

Or gaze upon the snowflake pure to calm his deep despair

Before he went on hunger strike young Bobby did compose

The Rhythm of Time the Weeping Winds and the Sleeping Rose

He was a poet and a soldier, he died courageously

And we gave him 30,000 votes while in captivity.

Thomas Ashe gave everything in 1917

The lord mayor of Cork Mac Sweeney died his freedom to obtain

But never one of all our dead died more courageously

Than young Bobby Sands from Twinbrook, the people’s own M.P

Forever we’ll remember him that man who died in pain

That his country North and South might be united once again

To mourn him is to organise and built a movement strong

With ballot box and armalite, with music and with song

He was a poet and a soldier, he died courageously

And we gave him 30,000 votes while in captivity.

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The Time Has Come

– by Christy Moore

The time has come to part, my love,

I must go away

I leave you now, my darling girl,

No longer can I stay.

My heart like yours is breaking

Together we’ll prove strong

The road I take will show the world

The suffering that goes on.

The gentle clasp that holds my hand

Must loosen and let go

Please help me through the door

Though instinct tells you no.

Our vow it is eternal

And will bring you dreadful pain

But if our demands aren’t recognised

Don’t call me back again.

How their sorrow touched us all

In those final days

When it was the time she held the door

And touched his sallow face.

The flame he lit by leaving

Is still burning strong

By the lights it’s plain to see

The suffering still goes on.

The time has come to part, my love

I must go away

I leave you now, my darling girl,

No longer can I stay.

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The H-Block Song

– by Francie Brolly, Dungiven, 1976

I

I am a proud young Irishman.

In Ulster’s hills my life began;

A happy boy through green fields ran;

I kept God’s and Man’s laws.

But when my age was barely ten

My country’s wrongs were told again.

By tens of thousands marching men

And my heart stirred to the cause.



Chorus:

So I’ll wear no convict’s uniform

Nor meekly serve my time

That Britain might brand lreland ‘s fight

Eight hundred years of crime.

II

I learned of centuries of strife,

Of cruel laws, injustice rife;

I saw now in my own young life

The fruits of foreign sway:

Protestors threatened, tortured, maimed,

Divisions nurtured, passions flamed,

Outrage provoked, right’s cause defamed;

That is the conqueror’s way.



Chorus

III

Descended from proud Connacht clan,

Concannon served cruel Britain’ s plan;

Man’ s inhumanity to man

Had spawned a trusty slave.

No strangers are these bolts and locks,

No new design these dark H-Blocks,

Black Cromwell lives while Mason stalks;

The bully taunts the brave.



Chorus

IV

Does Britain need a thousand years

Of protest, riot, death and tears,

Or will this past decade of fears

Of eighty decades spell

an end to Ireland’ s agony,

New hope for human dignity;

And will the last obscenity

Be this grim H-Block cell?



Chorus

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The Ballad of Joe McDonnell

– by Brian Warfield

Oh me name is Joe McDonnell

From Belfast town I came

That city I will never see again

For in the town of Belfast I spent many happy days

I love that town in oh so many ways

For it’s there I spent my childhood and found for me a wife

I then set out to make for her a life

But all my young ambitions met with bitterness and hate

I soon found myself inside a prison gate

And you dare to call me a terrorist

While you look down your gun

When I think of all the deeds that you have done

You have plundered many nations, divided many lands

You have terrorized their peoples, you rule with an iron hand

And you brought this reign of terror to my land

Through those many months internment

In the Maidstone and the Maze

I thought about my land throughout those days

Why my country was divided, why I was now in jail

Imprisoned without crime or without trial

And though I love my country I am not a bitter man

I’ve seen cruelty and injustice at first hand

So then one fateful morning I shook bold freedom’s hand

For right or wrong I’d try to free my land

And you dare to call me a terrorist

While you look down your gun

When I think of all the deeds that you have done

You have plundered many nations, divided many lands

You have terrorized their peoples, you rule with an iron hand

And you brought this reign of terror to my land

Then one cold October morning

Trapped in a lion’s den

I found myself imprisoned once again

I was committed to the H blocks for fourteen years or more

On the blanket the conditions they were poor

Then a hunger strike we did commence for the dignity of men

But it seemed to me that noone gave a damn

But now I am a saddened man I’ve watched my comrades die

If only people cared or wondered why

And you dare to call me a terrorist

While you look down your gun

When I think of all the deeds that you have done

You have plundered many nations, divided many lands

You have terrorized their peoples, you rule with an iron hand

And you brought this reign of terror to my land

May God shine on you Bobby Sands

For the courage you have shown

May your glory and your fame be widely known

And Francis Hughes and Ray McCreesh who died unselfishly

And Patsy O’Hara and the next in line is me

And those who lie behind me may your courage be the same

And I pray to God my life is not in vain

Ah but sad and bitter was the year of 1981

For everything I’ve lost and nothing won

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– written by Larry Kirwan and performed by Black 47





My name is Bobby Sands, MP

Born in the city of Belfast

Divided by religion

I grew up fast

I was stabbed and I was spat upon

My family run out of its home

There was only one solution

Turn the whole system upside down

But the system had other ideas

I got lifted for carryin’ a gun

In a trial without a jury

I got fourteen years from the judge

Screws beat me regularly

But they couldn’t break me because

I had the love of my comrades

And a burnin’ faith in my Cause

Still I left a girl outside pregnant

Married her while on remand

Now I got a son and a pain in my heart

When he doesn’t recognize his old man

Your soul’s on ice oh oh oh oh

But they can’t stop the desire

To break on out oh oh oh oh

When your heart is on fire

We wouldn’t wear their convict clothes

So they stripped us to the bone

Threw in some threadbare blankets…..

And when they jeered us about our nakedness

As we slopped out down the halls

We wouldn’t come out of their prison cells

We smeared shit on their prison walls

Stuck in an eight foot concrete box

With a bible, a mattress

And the threat of violence every day….

Can I make it through these fourteen years

Will my son remember my face

I don’t blame her for the separation

But for Christ’s sake let him keep his name

Your soul’s on ice oh oh oh oh

But they can’t stop the desire

To break on out oh oh oh oh

When your heart is on fire

Five simple things we ask of them

Five simple things denied

But Thatcher will not compromise….

I ask my Mother’s permission

To finally break her heart

We have come to a decision

……Hunger Strike

Three comrades starve behind me

I pray to God that my

Death will lead to compromise….

I can no longer see your face

My bones break through my skin

I’m goin’ back to Belfast City

You can’t cage my spirit in

Your soul’s on ice

But they can’t stop the desire

To break on out

When your heart is on fire

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’written by Bobby Sands, sang by Brendan McFarlane

I’m sitting at the window, I’m looking down the street

I am watching for your face, I’m listening for your feet.

Outside the wind is blowing and it’s just begun to rain,

And it’s being here without you that’s causing me such pain.

My mind’s wandering back again, to when you were here

And I wish I had you now, I wish that you were near.

I remember the winter nights when you warned me from the cold

And in the spring when we walked through green fields and skies of gold.

You’re gone, you’re gone, but you’ll live on in my memory.

In summer we played with the kids and you brought us young Jane,

But now – now it’s lonely and cold and it’s winter once again.

It’s dark now, I see, the stars are out way up in the sky,

And oh! how they remind me of the sparkle in your eye.

I’m lonely, yes, I’m lonelier than the cold wind that blows,

Are you happy, are you all right? I suppose God only knows.

And darling all the people are going to bed and the kids are crying for you

– How can I tell them you’re dead?

You’re gone, you’re gone but you’ll live on in my memory,

You’re gone, you’re gone but you’ll live on in my memory.

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by Seanchai & The Unity Squad

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there I do not sleep

Do not stand at my grave and cry

When Ireland lives i do not die

A woman’s place is no at home

The fight for fredom it still goes on

I took up my gun until freedoms day

I pledged to fight for the I.R.A.

In Armagh jail I served my time

Strip searches were a British crime

Degraded me but they could not see

I suffered this to see Ireland free

BREAK

Gibralta Rock’s the place I died

McCann and Savage were by my side

I heard the order loud and shrill

Of Thatchers voice, said SHOOT TO KILL

So do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there, I do not sleep

Do not stand at my grave and cry

When reland lives I do not die

When Ireland lives I do not die

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Oh Irishmen remember well

Our heroes who in action fell

And those who died in the prison cell

Like Bobby Sands from Belfast

An Irish soldier to the last

A criminal he would not be classed

And so began a long day fast

Of Bobby Sands from Belfast

So proud Britannia hide your face

Throughout the world you are disgraced

How many more must take the place

Of Bobby Sands from Belfast

The gallant Hughes from Derry’s hills

He fought against the tyrants will

O’Hara and McCreesh you’ve killed

Like Bobby Sands from Belfast

And the world will never understand

Why you denied their just demands

A lingering death with your heartless plan

for those like Sands from Belfast

Now Britannia, all the world must know

how England treats a helpless foe

Your British justice, it is laid low

Like Bobby Sands from Belfast

So proud Britannia hide your face

Throughout the world you are disgraced

How many more must take the place

Of Bobby Sands from Belfast

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written by Gerry O’Glacain, sang by Eire Og

Read the roll of honour for Ireland’s bravest men

We must be united in memory of the ten,

England you’re a monster, don’t think that you have won

We will never be defeated while Ireland has such sons.

In those dreary H-Block cages ten brave young Irishmen lay

Hungering for justice as their young lives ebbed away,

For their rights as Irish soldiers and to free their native land

They stood beside their leader – the gallant Bobby Sands.

Now they mourn Hughes in Bellaghy,

Ray McCreesh in Armagh’s hills

In those narrow streets of Derry they miss O’Hara still,

They so proudly gave their young lives to break Britannia’s hold

Their names will be remembered as history unfolds.

Through the war torn streets of Ulster the black flags did sadly sway

To salute ten Irish martyrs the bravest of the brave,

Joe McDonnell, Martin Hurson, Kevin Lynch, Kieran Doherty

They gave their lives for freedom with Thomas McElwee.

Michael Devine from Derry you were the last to die

With your nine brave companions with the martyred dead you lie

Your souls cry out “Remember, our deaths were not in vain.

Fight on and make our homeland a nation once again !”

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The Men Behind The Wire

Written by Paddy McGuigan, Performed by The Barleycorn

[Chorus]

Armoured cars and tanks and guns

Came to take away our sons

But every man must stand behind

The men behind the wire

Through the little streets of Belfast

In the dark of early morn

British soldiers came marauding

Wrecking little homes with scorn

Heedless of the crying children

Dragging fathers from their beds

Beating sons while helpless mothers

Watched the blood poor from their heads

[Chorus]

Not for them a judge and jury

Nor indeed a crime at all

But being Irish means they’re guilty

So we’re guilty one and all

Round the world the truth will echo

Cromwell’s men are here again

England’s name again is sullied

In the eyes of honest men.

[Chorus]

Proudly march behind our banners

Firmly stand behind our men

We will have them free to help us

Build a nation once again

All the people step together

Proudly, firmly, on your way

Never fear and never falter

Till the boys come home to stay

[Chorus]

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Only Our Rivers Run Free

– performed by Kathleen Largey, Lyrics by Michael McConnell

When apples still grow in November

When blossoms still bloom from each tree,

When leaves are still green in December,

It’s then that our land will be free.

I wander her hills and her valleys,

And still through my sorrow I see

A land that has never known freedom

And only her rivers run free.

I drink to the death of her manhood,

Those men who would rather have died

Than to live in the cold chains of bondage,

To bring back their rights were denied.

Oh were are you now when we need you,

What burns where the flame used to be,

Are ye gone like the snows of last winter,

And will only our rivers run free.

How sweet is life but we’re crying

How mellow the wine that were dry,

How fragrant the rose, but it’s dying,

How gentle the wind but it sighs.

What good is in youth when it’s aging,

What joy is in eyes that can’t see,

When there’s sorrow and sunshine and flowers,

And still only our rivers run free.

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Our lads in Crumlin Jail

– Performed by Kathleen Largey

In Ireland’s fight for freedom, boys,

The North has played its part,

Though the day has still to come,

We’ve never yet lost heart,

For we’ll fight it out until the end

We’ll fight for we cannot fail.

We know we’ll win although they have

Our lads in Crumlin Jail.

We give to Erin Owen Roe,

We give her Shane O’Neill,

Tone and Cavehill made a vow,

That England still can feel,

Joe McKelvey did not die in vain,

He too was a Northern Gael.

And that’s another reason why

They keep our lads in Crumlin Jail.

Bravely too great Ardoyne men

The Markets and the Falls

From Ballymurphy and Short Strand

They’re inside those grey walls.

No fear have they for …..

………………………….

And that’s another reason why

They keep our lads in Crumlin Jail.

Keep on the fight you Volunteers

For God is on our side

Jail can’t break a spirit …

They’d just as soon have died.

For England knows and England hates

The fearless Northern Gaels

And that’s another reason why

They keep our lads in Crumlin Jail

And that’s another reason why

They came our lads in Crumlin Jail

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James Connolly

– performed by Kathleen Largey

Many years have rolled by since the Irish rebellion,

When the guns of Brittania they loudly did speak,

When the bold IRA battled shoulder to shoulder,

While the blood from their bodies flowed down Sackville Street.

The Four Courts of Dublin, the English bombarded,

The spirit of freedom, they tried hard to quell

But amid all the din came a voice, “No Surrender!”

’Twas the voice of James Connolly, the Irish Rebel.

A great crowd has gathered outside of Kilmainham

With their heads all uncovered they knelt on the ground

For inside that grim prison lay a true Irish soldier

His life for his country about to lay down.

He went to his death like a true son of Ireland,

The firing party he bravely did face.

Then the order rang out: “Present arms, Fire!”

James Connolly fell into a ready made grave.

The black flag they hoisted, the cruel deed was over,

Gone was a man who loved Ireland so well,

There was many a sad heart in Dublin that morning,

When they murdered James Connolly, the Irish rebel.

God’s curse on you, England, you cruel hearted monster,

Your deeds would shame all the devils in Hell,

There are no flowers blooming but the Shamrock is still growing

On the grave of James Connolly, the Irish rebel.

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KEVIN BARRY

In Mountjoy jail one Monday morning

High upon the gallows tree

Kevin Barry gave his young life

For the cause of liberty

But a lad of eighteen summers

Yet no one can deny

As he walked to death that morning

He proudly held his head on high

Just before he faced the hangman

In his dreary prison cell

British soldiers tortured Barry

Just because he would not tell

The names of his brave companions

And other things they wished to know

“Turn informer or we’ll kill you”

Kevin Barry answered, “No”

Calmly standing to attention

While he bade his last farewell

To his broken hearted mother

Whose grief no one can tell

For the cause he proudly cherished

This sad parting had to be

Then to death walked softly smiling

That old Ireland might be free

Another martyr for old Ireland

Another murder for the crown

Whose brutal laws may kill the Irish

But can’t keep their spirit down

Lads like Barry are no cowards

From the foe they will not fly

Lads like Barry will free Ireland

For her cause they’ll live and die

‘Kevin Barry’ has been recorded hundreds of times. Here are just a few:

Wolfe Tones

Paul Robeson

Leonard Cohen

Lonnie Donegan

Finally, a different song about Kevin Barry by Björn Ulvaeus, long before ABBA! –

……………….

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Four Green Fields

written by Tommy Makem and performed by The Flying Column

What did I have, said the fine old woman

What did I have, this proud old woman did say

I had four green fields, each one was a jewel

But strangers came and tried to take them from me

I had fine strong sons, they fought to save my jewels

They fought and they died, and that was my grief said she

Long time ago, said the fine old woman

Long time ago, this proud old woman did say

There was war and death, plundering and pillage

My people starved, by mountain, valley and sea

And their wailing cries, they reached the very heavens

And my four green fields ran red with their blood, said she

What have I now, said the fine old woman

What have I now, this proud old woman did say

I have four green fields, one of them’s in bondage

In stranger’s hands, that tried to take it from me

But my sons they have sons, as brave as were their fathers

And my fourth green field will bloom once again said she

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The Auld Triangle

By Brendan Behan from his play ‘The Quare Fellow’ – performed by The Dubliners

A hungry feeling came o’er me stealing

And the mice were squealing in my prison cell

And the auld triangle went jingle jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

To begin the morning a screw was bawling

‘Get up you bowsie and clean up your cell’

And the auld triangle went jingle jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

On a fine spring evening the lag lay dreaming

The seagulls wheeling high over the wall

And the auld triangle went jingle jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

The lags were sleeping, Humpy Gussy was creeping

As I lay there weeping for my girl Sal

And the auld triangle went jingle jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

The wind was rising and the day declining

As I lay pining in my prison cell

And the auld triangle went jingle jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

In the female prison there are seventy five women

’Tis among them I wish I did dwell

And the auld triangle went jingle jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

The day was dying and the wind was sighing

As I lay crying in my prison cell

And the auld triangle went jingle jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

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Bobby – by Bébhinn Hurley



Upon your death,

As you spent those final breathes,

She’ll never spend the souls of those who weep,

Upon the streets, of Tehran,

Into the arms of every man,

She casts the soul of this demised,

Freedom fighter to the streets of,

Bobby Sands.

Pegasus on broken past,

Beats his wings against the glass,

Chandeliers, my cavalier is in,

The sinking sand and sinking fast,

You must not struggle,

Now she is above your mouth,

Still just below your breath,

And she said, “this is it, this is the one we’ve been waiting for”,

Take him down, overthrow their laws,

Take this land, take this man,

He refuses to wear our uniforms!

1981, “Some mother’s son”,

Drained and chained, he turns to bone,

But to you he’s just some mother’s son!

These are your ways, and no other ways, and now,

Now the lights are lime but he is fading all the time,

Take this land, take this man,

He refuses to wear our uniforms.

1981, “Some mother’s son”,

Drained and chained, he turns to bone,

But to you he’s just some mother’s son.

And the whole world was watching,

It’s too late you did nothing,

And we can’t physically see him anymore

But he’s still here,

And your prisoners of war may have turned to dust,

But our warriors for freedom now live in us!

Upon your death,

As you spent those final breathes,

She’ll never spend the souls of those who weep,

Upon the streets, of Tehran,

Into the arms of every man,

She casts the soul of this demised,

Freedom fighter to the streets of,

Bobby Sands.

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Free Nelson Mandela – by The Specials



Free Nelson Mandela

Free, Free, Free, Nelson Mandela

Free Nelson Mandela

Twenty-one years in captivity

His shoes too small to fit his feet

His body abused but his mind is still free

Are you so blind that you cannot see

I say Free Nelson Mandela

I’m begging you

Free Nelson Mandela

He pleaded the causes of the ANC

Only one man in a large army

Are you so blind that you cannot see

Are you so deaf that you cannot hear his plea

Free Nelson Mandela

I’m begging you Free Nelson Mandela

Twenty-one years in captivity

Are you so blind that you cannot see

Are you…

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Mandela Day (1988) – by Simple Minds



It was 25 years they take that man away

Now the freedom moves in closer every day

Wipe the tears down from your saddened eyes

They say Mandela’s free so step outside

Oh oh oh oh Mandela day

Oh oh oh oh Mandela’s free

It was 25 years ago this very day

Held behind four walls all through night and day

Still the children know the story of that man

And I know what’s going on right through your land

25 years ago

Na na na na Mandela day

Oh oh oh Mandela’s free

If the tears are flowing wipe them from your face

I can feel his heartbeat moving deep inside

It was 25 years they took that man away

And now the world come down say Nelson Mandela’s free

Oh oh oh oh Mandela’s free

The rising…

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Biko- by Peter Gabriel



September ’77

Port Elizabeth weather fine

It was business as usual

In police room 619

Oh Biko, Biko, because Biko

Oh Biko, Biko, because Biko

Yihla Moja, Yihla Moja

The man is dead

The man is dead

When I try to sleep at night

I can only dream in red

The outside world is black and white

With only one colour dead

Oh Biko, Biko, because Biko

Oh Biko, Biko, because Biko

Yihla Moja, Yihla Moja

The man is dead

The man is dead

You can blow out a candle

But you can’t blow out a fire

Once the flames begin to catch

The wind will blow it higher

Oh Biko, Biko, because Biko

Yihla Moja, Yihla Moja

The man is dead

The man is dead

And the eyes of the world are watching now, watching now

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Joe Hill- by Paul Robeson



I dreamed, I saw Joe Hill last night

Alive as you and me

Says I “But Joe, you’re ten years dead”

“I never died” says he

“I never died” says he

“The copper bosses killed you, Joe”

“They shot you Joe” says I

“Takes more than guns to kill a man”

Says Joe “I didn’t die”

Says Joe “I didn’t die”

And standing there, as big as life

And smiling with his eyes

Says Joe “What they can never kill

Went on to organize

Went on to organize”

From San Diego up to Maine

In every mine and mill

Where working folks defend their rights

It’s there…

I dreamed I saw, I dreamed I saw, Joe Hill last night

Alive as you and me

Says I “But Joe, you’re ten years dead”

“I never died” says he, “I never died” says he

“I never died” says he

Joe Hill – by Joan Baez



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I’ve Got To Know – by Woody Guthrie (performed by ‘Utah’ Phillips’)



I’ve got to know, yes, I’ve got to know, friend;

Hungry lips ask me wherever I go!

Comrades and friends all falling around me

I’ve got to know, yes, I’ve got to know.

Why do your war boats ride on my waters?

Why do your death bombs fall from my skies?

Why do you burn my farm and my town down?

I’ve got to know, friend, I’ve got to know!

What makes your boats haul death to my people?

Nitro blockbusters, big cannons and guns?

Why doesn’t your ship bring food and some clothing?

I’ve sure got to know, folks, I’ve sure got to know!

Why can’t my two hands get a good pay job?

I can still plow, plant, I can still sow!

Why did your lawbook chase me off my good land?

I’d sure like to know, friend, I’ve just got to know!

What good work did you do, sir, I’d like to ask you,

To give you my money right out of my hands?

I built your big house here to hide from my people,

Why you crave to hide so, I’d love to know!

You keep me in jail and you lock me in prison,

Your hospital’s jammed and your crazyhouse full,

What made your cop kill my trade union worker?

You’ll hafta talk plain ’cause I sure have to know!

Why can’t I get work and cash my big paycheck?

Why can’t I buy things in your place and your store?

Why do you close my plant down and starve all my buddies?

I’m asking you, sir, ’cause I’ve sure got to know!

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La zamba del Ché – by Víctor Jara



Vengo cantando esta zamba

con redoble libertario

mataron al gerrillero che comandante guevara

selvas pampas y montañas

patria o muerte su destino

selvas pampas y montañas

patria o muerte su destino

de los derechos humanos

los violan en tantas partes

en america latina

domingo lunes y martes

nos imponen militares para sobusgar los pueblos

dictadores asesinos

gorilas y generales

Explotan al campesino

al minero y al obrero

cuanto dolor su destino

hambre miseria y dolor

Bolivar le dio el camino y

guevara lo siguio

liberar a nuestro pueblo

del dominio explotador

A cuba le dio la gloria

de la nacion liberada

bolivia tambm le llora

su vida sacrificada

San Ernesto de la higuiera le llaman

los campesinos

selvas pampas y montañas

patria o muerte su destino

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Victor Jara – by Arlo Guthrie



Victor Jara of Chile

Lived like a shooting star

He fought for the people of Chile

With his songs and his guitar

His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

Victor Jara was a peasant

He worked from a few years old

He sat upon his father’s plow

And watched the earth unfold

His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

Now when the neighbors had a wedding

Or one of their children died

His mother sang all night for them

With Victor by her side

His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

He grew up to be a fighter

Against the people’s wrongs

He listened to their grief and joy

And turned them into songs

His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

He sang about the copper miners

And those who worked the land

He sang about the factory workers

And they knew he was their man

His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

He campaigned for Allende

Working night and day

He sang “Take hold of your brothers hand

You know the future begins today”

His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

Then the generals seized Chile

They arrested Victor then

They caged him in a stadium

With five-thousand frightened men

His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

Victor stood in the stadium

His voice was brave and strong

And he sang for his fellow prisoners

Till the guards cut short his song

His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

They broke the bones in both his hands

They beat him on the head

They tore him with electric shocks

And then they shot him dead

His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

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De mi pueblo para la guerrilla – by Julian Conrado



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