Classic Poem

The Songs of our land are they not worth reviving
To sing o'er brown stout by the English fire side
They are national links 'gainst deception contriving
That spread over oceans & lands far and wide
They sing of our homes which great heroe's have bled for
And the child o'er its horn book doth well understand
That its birth's not a slavery which it learns to abhor
Thro reading & singing the songs of his land

The Songs of the land sing of Englishmans freedom
The songs of our land cheer the hearts that are true
While they've voices to sing or fond hearts to read em
And heroes to guard them in scarlet or blue
The songs of our land are made for our comfort
While on settles or chairs by our cottage fireside
A fig for your priestcraft I'd give not a crumb for't
A priest-ridden nation I ne'er could abide

The Songs of our land are like ancient landmarks
And curs'd be the traitor who takes one away
Would man sell his birthright to literal land sharks
And leave home & friends to the stranger a prey
We'll have nought o' the kind brave the nerves & be steady
The one in bright scarlet the other true blue
Let the foe come & welcome we're all waiting ready
Rose, Thistle and Shamrock united are true