Capo 3rd fret
They prowl the streets of Ireland,
Preying on our teens.
They think they’re indestructible,
as they expand their factions range.
Their minds are sick with injury,
to their bodies
and their souls.
From potions of great adultery,
that seize desire and hope.
Veronica came to their homes,
a rally of just one.
The drug lords she confronted
with pen instead of gun.
Her copy brought them into light
for Dublin to attend.
But their wretched lives of deceit,
no one would condemn.
Get a good look at me you bastards,
I know what you’re about to do.
do not shoot me in the face,
That’s all I ask of you.
You’re stealing that which I love
and now my life you’ll take.
Like adding fuel to the fire,
making your huge mistake.
No longer could they hide behind
our children they enslaved.
they terrorized her family
and shot her
in the leg.
An easy fix, or so they thought,
this lowbred act of fright.
But to their homes she visited
crutches that very night.
She stood there face to face with them
her wound she did display.
And told them she’d not let them win,
that’s not this country’s way.
Our future won’t be vanquished
don’t dare to think you’ve
Our dreams you cannot pillage,
with thug or drug or gun.
The world looked on with faint applaud
for Guerin and her grit.
she continued on with solo torch,
the wicked lit.
A solitary voice of suit,
to assembly she would cry.
To fix these broken civil laws,
the country die.
To the outlaws it seemed easy,
The thing that they must do
To silence this annoyance,
This stone caught
in their shoe.
So, then in June of ‘96
while waiting for a light.
Two messengers from the crime lord,
up to end their plight.
While on the phone to friends of hers,
she talked of battles won.
Then turning to encounter
The hit man
with a gun.
Veronica asked of but one thing,
which he granted five that day.
It was to not shoot her in the face,
but in some other way.
All of Ireland came to the wake,
The world likewise did.
As her husband held her son of eight,
her coffin lid.
Since then the country’s changed the laws,
to the door steps they did march.
And jail these
and soulless thieves of heart.
Now in the streets the people meet, united in her cry.
In groups of hundreds more or less,
all holding torches
They light the way to stand in front
of the homes the outlaws dwell.
And voice demands, they leave this
and take their ranks in hell.