a wife, three children, and a farm to call my own
foreigners came to take my land and burn me from my home.
told me I could not gae to church or wear my native green
they branded me a rebel so now I'm seldom seen.
my name is Pat and Sean and Mike and I'm still a native son
Ireland's still my home sweet home; I'll not softly pass Her on
English or to others who may think they have a right
they've not yet understood Her sons and so must stand and fight.
name is Mary, Bridget, Faith, and I've raised Her native sons
when they suffered from the wars, they weren't the only ones.
we raised their children and tended farms, we were left to carry on
even if they kill the men, they'll know the Irish aren't all gone.
now they brings their guns and tanks; they say that it's a war.
tell us that they're fighting back, but they don't say what for.
Ireland is our native land and we're Her native ones.
when the fight is o'er, our country will be one.