Sons of Granuaile

You loyal-hearted Irishmen that do intend to roam,
To reap the English harvest so far away from home.
I’m sure you will provide with us both comrades loyal and true;
For you have to fight both day and night with John Bull and his crew.

When we left our homes from Ireland the weather was calm and clear,
And when we got on board the ship we gave a hearty cheer.
We gave three loud cheers for Paddy’s land, the place we do adore,
May the heavens smile on every child that loves the shamrock shore.

We sailed away all from the quay and ne’er received a shock,
Till we landed safe in Liverpool, one side of Clarence Dock.
Where hundreds of our Irishmen, they met us in the town;
Then “Hurrah for Paddy’s lovely land” was the word went round.

With one consent away we went to drink strong ale and wine,
Each man he drank a favourite toast to the friends he left behind.
We sang and drank till the alehouse rang, dispraising Erin’s foes,
Or any man that hates the land where Saint Patrick’s shamrock grows.

For three long days we marched away, high wages for to find,
Till on the following morning we came to a railway line.
Those navvies then came up to us, and loudly they did rail,
They cursed and damned ould Paddy’s land, and the sons of Granuaile.

Up stands one of our Irish boys and says, “What do you mean?
Why, us, we’ll work as well as you, and hate a coward’s name.
So leave our way without delay or some of you will fall,
Here stand the sons of Irishmen that never feared a ball.”

Those navvies then, they cursed and swore they’d kill us every man,
Make us remember Ninety-Eight, Ballinamuck and Slievenamon.
Blessed Father Murphy they cursed, his holy name profaned,
And our Irish heroes swore they’d have revenge for the same.

Up stands Barney Reilly and he knocked the ganger down,
’Twas then the sticks and stones they came like showers to the ground.
We fought from half-past four until the sun was going to set,
When O’Reilly says, “My Irish boys, I think we will be beat.”

But come with me, my comrade boys, we’ll renew the fight once more,
We’ll set our foes on every side more desperate than before.
We will let them know before we go we’d rather fight than fly,
For at the worst of times you’ll know what can we do but die.

Here’s a health then to the McCormicks, to O’Donnell and O’Neill,
And also the O’Donoghues that never were afraid.
Also every Irishman who fought and gained the day,
And made those cowardly Englishmen—in crowds they ran away.