Raised on songs and stories, heroes of renown
The passing tales and glories that once was Dublin Town
The hallowed halls and houses, the haunting childrens rhymes
That once was Dublin City in the rare ould times

Ring a ring a rosey, as the light declines
I remember Dublin City in the rare ould times

My name it is Sean Dempsey, as Dublin as can be
Born hard and late in Pimlico, in a house that ceased to be
By trade I was a cooper, lost out to redundancy
Like my house that fell to progress, my trade's a memory

And I courted Peggy Dignam, as pretty as you please
A rogue and child of Mary, from the rebel Liberties
I lost her to a student chap, with skin as black as coal
When he took her off to Birmingham, she took away my soul

Ring a ring a rosey, as the light declines
I remember Dublin City in the rare ould times

The years have made me bitter, the gargle dims me brain
Cause Dublin keeps on changing, and nothing seems the same
The Pillar and the Met have gone, the Royal long since pulled down
As the grey unyielding concrete, makes a city of my town

Ring a ring a rosey, as the light declines
I remember Dublin City in the rare ould times

Fare thee well sweet Anna Liffey, I can no longer stay
And watch the new glass cages, that spring up along the quay
My mind's too full of memories, too old to hear new chimes
I'm part of what was Dublin, in the rare ould times

Ring a ring a rosey, as the light declines
I remember Dublin City in the rare ould times

Ring a ring a rosey, as the light declines
I remember Dublin City in the rare ould times

In nineteen hundred and sixteen,
The Forces of the Crown,
For to Capture Orange, White and Green,
Bombarded Dublin Town,
But in twenty one, Britannia's sons,
Began to earn their pay,
When the Black and Tans, Like lightning ran
From the rifles of the IRA

They burned their way through Munster
Laid Leinster on the rack,
Through Connaught and through Ulster,
Marched the men in brown and black,
Well, they cut down wives and children,
In their own horrific way,
The black and tans, like lightning ran
From the rifles of the IRA

Oh the empire is finished no foreign lands to seize
So the greedy eyes of England are looking towards the seas
Two hundred miles from Donegal, there's a place that's called Rockall
And the groping hands of Whitehall are grabbing at its walls

Oh rock on Rockall, you'll never fall to Britain's greedy hands
Or you'll meet the same resistance that you did in many lands
May the seagulls rise and pluck your eyes and the water crush your shell,
And the natural gas will burn your ass and blow you all to hell.

For this rock is part of Ireland, 'cos it' s written in folklore
That Fionn MacCumhaill took a sod of grass and he threw it to the fore,
Then he tossed a pebble across the sea, where ever it did fall,
For the sod became the Isle of Man and the pebble's called Rockall.

Now the seas will not be silent, while Britannia grabs the waves
And remember that the Irish will no longer be your slaves,
And remember that Britannia, well, - she rules the waves no more
So keep your hands off Rockall - it's Irish to the core.

I got a job in a band called Black 47
I was doin' nothin' special after 11
Oh we learned some tunes and wrote some songs
And we bought ourselves a drum machine to keep the beat strong

Well we bought the Irish People, the Echo and the Voice
And we rang a few bars, said "we got a new noise
Hey, it would please us greatly to come on uptown
And show you Paddys how we get on down"

One o'clock, two o'clock, give us a chance
All we wanta do is be rockin' the Bronx
3 o'clock, 4 o'clock what does she want
The girl in black leather wants to
Rocka the - rocka the - rocka the - rocka the Bronx

Oh we got a gig in the Village Pub
But the regulars there all said that we sucked
Then Big John Flynn, said "oh, no no
You'll be causin' a riot if I don't let you go"

Then a flintstone from the Phoenix gave us a call
When he heard the beat, he was quite appalled
"D'yez not know nothin' by Christy Moore?"
The next thing you be wantin' is Danny Boy!

Chris is chillin' on the uileann but he isn't alone
Here comes Freddy on the slide trombone
Add a little guitar, Geoff Blythe on the sax
Gonna shoot you full of our New York fix

Then we went into the studio and made a tape
Frank Murray from the Pogues said "I think that it's great
Galigula said "it could be a hit"
And if it falls on its face, who gives a shit!"

Now everywhere we go we cause a fuss
'Cause we play what we like and our sound is us
It's got a whole lot of hell and a little bit of heaven
That's the story so far of Black 47

Read the roll of honour for Ireland's bravest men
We must be united in memory of the ten,
England you're a monster, don't think that you have won
We will never be defeated while Ireland has such sons.

In those dreary H-Block cages ten brave young Irishmen lay
Hungering for justice as their young lives ebbed away,
For their rights as Irish soldiers and to free their native land
They stood beside their leader - the gallant Bobby Sands.
Now they mourn Hughes in Bellaghy,
Ray McCreesh in Armagh's hills
In those narrow streets of Derry they miss O'Hara still,
They so proudly gave their young lives to break Britannia's hold
Their names will be remembered as history unfolds.

Through the war torn streets of Ulster the black flags did sadly sway
To salute ten Irish martyrs the bravest of the brave,
Joe McDonnell, Martin Hurson, Kevin Lynch, Kieran Doherty
They gave their lives for freedom with Thomas McElwee.
Michael Devine from Derry you were the last to die
With your nine brave companions with the martyred dead you lie
Your souls cry out "Remember, our deaths were not in vain.
Fight on and make our homeland a nation once again !"

The Rising of the Moon 

Unknown

"O then, tell me, Sean O`Farrell, tell me why you hurry so?"
"Hush, me Boluchal (boy), hush and listen," and his cheeks were all aglow;
"I bear orders from the captain - get you ready quick and soon;
For the pikes must be together at the risin` of the moon."


"O then, tell me Sean O`Farrell, where the gath`rin it to be?"
"In the old spot by the river, right well known to you and me;
One more word - for signal token, wistle up the marchin` tune,
With your pike upon your shoulder, by the risin` of the moon."


Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through that night;
Many a manly heart was throbbing for the blessed warning light.
Murmers passed along the valleys, like the banshee`s lonely croon,
and a thousand blades were flashing at the risin` of the moon.


There, beside the singing river, that black mass of men was seen,
Far above their shining weapons hung their own beloved green.
"Death to every foe and traitor! Forward Strike the marchin` tune,
And Hurrah, my boys for freedom; `tis the risin` of the moon."


Well they fought for poor old Ireland, and full bitter was their fate;
O, What glorious pride and sorrow fills the name of Ninety-Eight!
Yet, thank God, e`en still are beating hearts in manhood`s burning noon,
Who would follow in their footsteps at the risin` of the moon