D                   A7
Oh, not now for songs of a nation's
D
wrongs,

not the groans of starving
A7 D
labor;
                             A7    D
Let the rifle ring and the bullet sing
                              G D
to the clash of the flashing sabre!


            D                  A7
There are Irish ranks on the tented
  D
banks
                      A7 D
of Columbia's guarded ocean;
                         A7
And an iron clank from flank to
  D
flank
                      G  D
tells of armed men in motion 


      D                A7        D
The Irish green shall again be seen
                     A7    D
as our Irish fathers bore it,
                         A7
A burning wind from the South
   D
behind,
                      G    D
and the Yankee rout before it!


  D                      A7
O'Neil's red hand shall purge the
 D
land-
                        A7 D
Rain a fire on men and cattle,

Till the Lincoln snakes in their
A7        D
own cold lakes
                          G  D
Plunge from the blaze of battle 


     D                     A7
Whoe'er shall march by triumphal
D
March
                       A7   D
Whoe'er may swell the slaughter,

Our drums shall roll from the
A7  D
Capitol
                       G  D
O'er Potomac's fateful water!


       D                       A7
Rise, bleeding ghosts, to the Lord of (
D
Hosts
                        A7 D
For judgement final and solemn;
                          A7
Your fanatic horde to the edge if the
D
sword

Is doomed line square and
G  D
column