Tekstovi: Eire Og. The Patriot Game.

Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.

My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen.
My home is in Monaghan, where I was reared.
I learned all my life cruel England to blame,
So now I am part of the patriot game.

They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair,
His wounds from the battle all bleeding and bare.
His fine body twisted, all tortured and lame;
They soon made me part of the patriot game.

It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
I've read of our heroes, and I wanted the same,
To play out my part in the patriot game.

This Ireland of ours has for long been half free;
Six counties still under John Bull's tyranny.
But still De Valera is greatly to blame
For shirking his part in the patriot game.

And now as I lie here, my body all holes,
I think of those traitors who bargained in souls
And I wish that my rifle had given the same
To those bastards that sold out the patriot game.

So come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.