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Bobby Sands center with guitar Back Home In Derry The Rhythm of Time

McIlhatton Song For Marcella Forever In My Mind Ninety Miles From Dublin No time for Love On The Blanket Take Me Home To Mayo The Armagh Women The Boy From Tamlaghtduff The People’s Own MP The Time Has Come The H-Block Song The Ballad of Joe McDonnell Bobby Sands MP A Sad Song for Susie The Ballad of Mairead Farrell The Ballad of Bobby Sands The Roll of Honour The Men Behind The Wire Only Our Rivers Run Free Our Lads In Crumlin Jail James Connolly Kevin Barry Four Green Fields The Auld Triangle Bobby Bobby Sands Bobby In The Wire

International Songs of Struggle

Free Nelson Madela Mandela Day Biko Joe Hill I've Got To Know La zamba del Ché Victor Jara De mi pueblo para la guerrilla

Back Home In Derry

- by Christy Moore, words by Bobby Sands

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In 1803 we sailed out to sea Out from the sweet town of Derry For Australia bound if we didn’t all drown

And the marks of our fetters we carried.

In the rusty iron chains we sighed for our wains As our good wives we left in sorrow. As the mainsails unfurled our curses we hurled On the English and thoughts of tomorrow.

Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry. Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry.

I cursed them to hell as our bow fought the swell. Our ship danced like a moth in the firelights.

White horses rode high as the devil passed by Taking souls to Hades by twilight.

Five weeks out to sea we were now forty-three Our comrades we buried each morning. In our own slime we were lost in a time. Endless night without dawning.

Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry. Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry.

Van Dieman’s land is a hell for a man

To live out his life in slavery. When the climate is raw and the gun makes the law. Neither wind nor rain cares for bravery.

Twenty years have gone by and I’ve ended me bond And comrades’ ghosts are behind me. A rebel I came and I’ll die the same. On the cold winds of night you will find me

Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry. Oh Oh Oh Oh I wish I was back home in Derry.

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The Rhythm of Time

- by Damien Dempsey, words by Bobby Sands

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There’s an inner thing in every man, Do you know this thing my friend?

It has withstood the blows of a million years, And will do so to the end. It was born when time did not exist, And it grew up out of life, It cut down evil’s strangling vines, Like a slashing searing knife. It lit fires when fires were not, And burnt the mind of man, Tempering leadened hearts to steel, From the time that time began. It wept by the waters of Babylon, And when all men were a loss, It screeched in writhing agony, And it hung bleeding from the Cross. It died in Rome by lion and sword, And in defiant cruel array, When the deathly word was ‘Spartacus’ Along the Appian Way. It marched with Wat the Tyler’s poor, And frightened lord and king, And it was emblazoned in their deathly stare, As e’er a living thing. It smiled in holy innocence, Before conquistadors of old, So meek and tame and unaware, Of the deathly power of gold. It burst forth through pitiful Paris streets, And stormed the old Bastille, And marched upon the serpent’s head, And crushed it ‘neath its heel. It died in blood on Buffalo Plains, And starved by moons of rain, Its heart was buried in Wounded Knee, But it will come to rise again. It screamed aloud by Kerry lakes, As it was knelt upon the ground, And it died in great defiance, As they coldly shot it down. It is found in every light of hope, It knows no bounds nor space It has risen in red and black and white, It is there in every race. It lies in the hearts of heroes dead, It screams in tyrants’ eyes, It has reached the peak of mountains high, It comes searing ‘cross the skies. It lights the dark of this prison cell, It thunders forth its might, It is ‘the undauntable thought’, my friend, That thought that says ‘I’m right!’

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McIlhatton

- by Christy Moore, words by Bobby Sands, music by Bik McFarlane

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In Glenravel’s Glen there lives a man whom some would call a god For he could cure your shakes with a bottle of his stuff would cost you thirty bob

Come winter, summer, frost all over, a jiggin’ Spring on the breeze In the dead of night a man steps by, “McIlhatton, if you please”

McIlhatton, you blurt, we need you, cry a million shaking men Where are your sacks of barley, will your likes be seen again?

Here’s a jig to the man and a reel to the drop and a swing to the girl he loves May your fiddle play and poitín cure your company up above

There’s a wisp of smoke to the south of the Glen and the poitín is on the air The birds in the burrows and the rabbits in the sky and there’s drunkards everywhere At Skerries Rock the fox is out and begod he’s chasing the hounds And the only thing in decent shape is buried beneath the ground

McIlhatton, you blurt, we need you, cry a million shaking men Where are your sacks of barley, will your likes be seen again? Here’s a jig to the man and a reel to the drop and a swing to the girl he loves

May your fiddle play and poitín cure your company up above

At McIlhatton’s house the fairies are out and dancing on the hobs The goat’s collapsed and the dog has run away and there’s salmon down the bogs He has a million gallons of wash and the peelers are on the Glen But they’ll never catch that hackler cos he’s not comin’ home again

McIlhatton you blurt we need you, cry a million shaking men Where are your sacks of barley, will your likes be seen again? Here’s a jig to the man and a reel to the drop and a swing to the girl he loves May your fiddle play and poitín cure your company up above

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Song For Marcella

- by Brendan "Bik" McFarlane music by John Gorka

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Doesn’t seem quite so long ago, The last time that I saw you, Ain’t it funny how the memories grow, They always fold around you, They tried to break you in a living hell, But they couldn’t find a way, So they killed you in a H-Block cell, And hoped that all would turn away, Thought that your spirit couldn’t rise again

But it dared to prove them wrong, And in death you tore away the chains, And let the world hear Freedom’s Song

Yet the heartache and pain linger on, They’re still here though its so long since you have gone, But we’re stronger now you showed us how, How freedom fight can be won

I wish there was an easy road to chose, To bring the heartache to an end,

But easy roads are always sure to lose, I’ve seen that time and time again, If you can stand by me like yesterday, I’ll find the strength to carry on, So let your spirit shine along the way, And our day will surely come

Yet the heartache and pain linger on, They’re still here though its so long since you have gone, But we’re stronger now you showed us how,

How freedom fight can be won, if we all stand as one

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Forever In My Mind

- by Christy Moore

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O’Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands,

Doherty and Lynch McDonnell, Hurson, McIlwee, Devine

Darkened years of winter have passed Summer waits for spring before it lives Blanket clad and wasted the winter has been long No gleam of hope a thoughtless nation gives In silence we walked through the streets As one by one our hunger strikers died.

O’Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands,

Doherty and Lynch McDonnell, Hurson, McIlwee, Devine

Their memory is forever in my mind Pictures of their faces in my eyes My sorrow and grief will not subside And my love for them I will not disguise In silence we walked through the streets As one by one our hunger strikers died.

O’Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands,

Doherty and Lynch McDonnell, Hurson, McIlwee, Devine

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Ninety Miles From Dublin

- by Christy Moore

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I'm ninety miles from Dublin town

I'm in an H-Block cell To help you understand me plight

This story now I'll tell I'm on the blanket protest My efforts must not fail For I'm joined by men and women

In the Kesh and Armagh jail It all began one morning I was dragged to Castlereagh And though it was three years ago It seems like yesterday For three days kicked and beaten I then was forced to sign Confessions that convicted me Of deeds that were not mine Sentenced in a Diplock Court My protest it began I could not wear this prison gear I was a blanket man I'll not accept their status I'll not be criminalised That's the issue in the blocks For which we give our lives

Over there in London town Oh how they'd laugh and sneer If they could only make us wear Their loathsome prison gear Prisoners of war that's what we are And that we must remain The blanket protest cannot end

Till status we regain I've been beaten round the romper room Because I won't say 'Sir' I've been frogmarched down the landing And dragged back by the hair I've suffered degradation Humility and pain Still the spirit does not falter British torture is in vain

I've been held in scalding water While me back with deck scrubs was tore I've been scratched and cut from head to foot Then thrown out on the floor I've suffered mirror searches

Been probed by drunken bears I've heard me comrades cry and scream Then utter useless prayers Now with the news that's coming in Our protest must not fail For now we're joined by thirty girls In Armagh's women's jail So pay attention Irishmen And Irish women too And show the Free State rulers that Their silence will not do Though it's ninety miles from Dublin town It seems so far away There's more attention to our plight In the USA Now you've heard the story Of this filthy living hell Remember ninety miles away I'm still in an H-Block cell

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No time for Love

- Performed by Christy Moore & Declan Sinnott, written by Jack Warshaw

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You call it the law, we call it apartheid, internment, conscription, partition and silence. It’s the law that they make to keep you and me where they think we belong. The hide behind steel and bullet-proof glass, machine guns and spies, And tell us who suffer the tear gas and the torture that we're in the wrong.

No time for love if they come in the morning, No time to show tears or for fears in the morning,

No time for goodbye, no time to ask why, And the sound of the siren's the cry of the morning. They suffered the torture they rotted in cells, went crazy, wrote letters and died. The limits of pain they endured - the loneliness got them instead. And the courts gave them justice as justice is given by well-mannered thugs. Sometimes they fought for the will to survive but more times they just wished they were dead.

They took away Sacco, Vanzetti, Connolly and Pearce in their time. They came for Newton and Seal, Bobby Sands and some of his friends.

In Boston, Chicago, Saigon, Santiago, Warsaw and Belfast, And places that never make headlines, the list never ends.

No time for love if they come in the morning, No time to show tears or for fears in the morning, No time for goodbye, no time to ask why, And the sound of the siren's the cry of the morning.

The boys in blue are only a few of the everyday cops on the beat, The C.I.D., Branchmen, informers and spies do their jobs just as well;

Behind them the men who tap phones, take photos, program computers and files, And the man who tells them when to come and take you to your cell.

No time for love if they come in the morning, No time to show tears or for fears in the morning, No time for goodbye, no time to ask why, And the sound of the siren’s the cry of the morning.

All of you people who give to your sisters and brothers the will to fight on, They say you can get used to a war, that doesn't mean that the war isn't on.

The fish need the sea to survive, just like your people need you. And the death squad can only get through to them if first they can get through to you.

No time for love if they come in the morning, No time to show tears or for fears in the morning, No time for goodbye, no time to ask why, And the sound of the siren’s the cry of the morning.

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On The Blanket

- by Christy Moore [song by Mick Hanly]

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The truth comes hard as the cold rain On your face in the heat of the storm And the stories I'm hearing would shock you

To believe that such deeds can go on

You can starve men and take all their clothing You can beat them up till they fall You can break up the bodies but never the spirit Of those on the blanket

The truth must be told so I'll tell it It all began five years ago Ciaran Nugent refused to be branded

A criminal and to wear prison clothes

They threw him out naked to H-Block And spat out filthy abuse And they left him awake till the cold light of day With only a blanket

England, your sins are not over The H-Block still stands in your name And though many voices have cried out to you It's still your shame

If we stay silent we're guilty While these men lie naked and cold In H-Block tonight remember the fight Of those on the blanket

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Take Me Home To Mayo

- by Christy Moore [Song by Seamus Robinson]

Take me home to Mayo, across the Irish Sea; Home to dear old Mayo, where once I roamed so free. Take me home to Mayo, there let my body lie; Home at last in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

My name is Michael Gaughan, from Ballina I came; I saw my people suffering and swore to break their chain – I raised the flag in England, prepared to fight or die – Far away from Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

Take me home to Mayo, across the Irish Sea;

Home to dear old Mayo, where once I roamed so free. Take me home to Mayo, there let my body lie; Home at last in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

My body cold and hungry, in Parkhurst Gaol I lie; For loving of my country, on hunger strike I die - I have just one last longing, I pray you’ll not deny – Bury me in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

Take me home to Mayo, across the Irish Sea; Home to dear old Mayo, where once I roamed so free.

Take me home to Mayo, there let my body lie; Home at last in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.

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The Armagh Women

- by Christy Moore

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In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha Last February in the grey cold jail The Governor Scott in his savage fury Came down to break the women’s will Forty jailers my forty jailers From the hell of Long Kesh came down And help me break these warrior women The forty jailers put on their armour Strapped on their helmets took up their shields

Then they beat the Armagh women they beat them down They were sure they’d yield Three days he kept them locked up in darkness Locked up in filth you would not believe When he released them he was so conceited That one and all he thought they would yield If you have suffered he smilingly said It never happened it was all just a dream Come out come out and obey my orders But the Armagh women they would never yield They’d never yield to Scott the governor They’d never yield till they broke him down He and his jailers were all locked in prison By the women of Armagh jail And there they remain those warrior women Locked up in filth you would not believe They hold Scott and his warders powerless They hold them there, they'll never concede Women of Ireland stand up and declare Women of Ireland understand your power Make us see that together we'll do it We'll tumble down their stone grey tower In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha Last February in a cold grey cell

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The Boy From Tamlaghtduff

- by Christy Moore

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As I walked through the Glenshane Pass I heard a young girl mourn ”The boy form Tamlaghtduff,” she cried, “is two years dead and gone” How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose Oh I’ll never see the likes again of my young Francis Hughes

For many years his exploits were a thorn in England’s side The hills and glens became his home there he used to hide Once when they surrounded him he quietly slipped away Like a fox he went to ground and kept the dogs at bay Moving round the countryside he often made the news But they could never lay their hands on my brave Francis Hughes Finally they wounded him and captured him at last From the countryside he loved they took him to Belfast Oh from Musgrave Park to the Crumlin Road and then to an H-Block cell He went straight on the blanket then on hunger strike as well His will to win they could never break no matter what they tried He fought them every day he lived and he fought them as he died As I walked through the Glenshane Pass I heard a young girl mourn ”The boy form Tamlaghtduff.” she cried, “is two years dead and gone” How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose Oh I’ll never see the likes again of my young Francis Hughes

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The People’s Own MP

- by Christy Moore

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How many more must die now, how many must we lose Before the island people their own destiny can choose? From immortal Robert Emmet to Bobby Sands M.P Who was given 30,000 votes while in captivity

No more he’ll hear the larks sweet notes upon the Ulster air Or gaze upon the snowflake pure to calm his deep despair Before he went on hunger strike young Bobby did compose The Rhythm of Time the Weeping Winds and the Sleeping Rose

He was a poet and a soldier, he died courageously And we gave him 30,000 votes while in captivity.

Thomas Ashe gave everything in 1917 The lord mayor of Cork Mac Sweeney died his freedom to obtain

But never one of all our dead died more courageously

Than young Bobby Sands from Twinbrook, the people's own M.P

Forever we’ll remember him that man who died in pain That his country North and South might be united once again To mourn him is to organise and built a movement strong With ballot box and armalite, with music and with song

He was a poet and a soldier, he died courageously And we gave him 30,000 votes while in captivity.

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The Time Has Come

- by Christy Moore

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The time has come to part, my love, I must go away I leave you now, my darling girl,

No longer can I stay.

My heart like yours is breaking Together we’ll prove strong The road I take will show the world The suffering that goes on.

The gentle clasp that holds my hand Must loosen and let go Please help me through the door Though instinct tells you no.

Our vow it is eternal And will bring you dreadful pain But if our demands aren’t recognised Don’t call me back again.

How their sorrow touched us all In those final days When it was the time she held the door And touched his sallow face.

The flame he lit by leaving

Is still burning strong By the lights it’s plain to see The suffering still goes on.

The time has come to part, my love I must go away I leave you now, my darling girl, No longer can I stay.

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The H-Block Song

- by Francie Brolly, Dungiven, 1976

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I I am a proud young Irishman. In Ulster's hills my life began;

A happy boy through green fields ran; I kept God's and Man's laws. But when my age was barely ten My country's wrongs were told again. By tens of thousands marching men And my heart stirred to the cause. Chorus: So I'll wear no convict's uniform Nor meekly serve my time That Britain might brand lreland 's fight Eight hundred years of crime.

II I learned of centuries of strife, Of cruel laws, injustice rife;

I saw now in my own young life The fruits of foreign sway: Protestors threatened, tortured, maimed, Divisions nurtured, passions flamed, Outrage provoked, right's cause defamed; That is the conqueror's way. Chorus III Descended from proud Connacht clan, Concannon served cruel Britain' s plan; Man' s inhumanity to man Had spawned a trusty slave. No strangers are these bolts and locks, No new design these dark H-Blocks, Black Cromwell lives while Mason stalks; The bully taunts the brave. Chorus IV Does Britain need a thousand years Of protest, riot, death and tears, Or will this past decade of fears Of eighty decades spell an end to Ireland' s agony, New hope for human dignity; And will the last obscenity Be this grim H-Block cell? Chorus

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The Ballad of Joe McDonnell

- by Brian Warfield

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Oh me name is Joe McDonnell From Belfast town I came That city I will never see again For in the town of Belfast I spent many happy days I love that town in oh so many ways For it's there I spent my childhood and found for me a wife I then set out to make for her a life But all my young ambitions met with bitterness and hate

I soon found myself inside a prison gate

And you dare to call me a terrorist While you look down your gun When I think of all the deeds that you have done You have plundered many nations, divided many lands You have terrorized their peoples, you rule with an iron hand And you brought this reign of terror to my land

Through those many months internment In the Maidstone and the Maze

I thought about my land throughout those days Why my country was divided, why I was now in jail Imprisoned without crime or without trial And though I love my country I am not a bitter man I've seen cruelty and injustice at first hand So then one fateful morning I shook bold freedom's hand For right or wrong I'd try to free my land

And you dare to call me a terrorist While you look down your gun When I think of all the deeds that you have done You have plundered many nations, divided many lands You have terrorized their peoples, you rule with an iron hand And you brought this reign of terror to my land

Then one cold October morning Trapped in a lion's den

I found myself imprisoned once again I was committed to the H blocks for fourteen years or more On the blanket the conditions they were poor Then a hunger strike we did commence for the dignity of men But it seemed to me that noone gave a damn But now I am a saddened man I've watched my comrades die If only people cared or wondered why

And you dare to call me a terrorist

While you look down your gun When I think of all the deeds that you have done You have plundered many nations, divided many lands You have terrorized their peoples, you rule with an iron hand And you brought this reign of terror to my land

May God shine on you Bobby Sands For the courage you have shown May your glory and your fame be widely known And Francis Hughes and Ray McCreesh who died unselfishly

And Patsy O'Hara and the next in line is me And those who lie behind me may your courage be the same And I pray to God my life is not in vain Ah but sad and bitter was the year of 1981 For everything I've lost and nothing won

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Bobby Sands MP

YouTube Preview Image - written by Larry Kirwan and performed by Black 47

My name is Bobby Sands, MP Born in the city of Belfast Divided by religion I grew up fast

I was stabbed and I was spat upon

My family run out of its home There was only one solution Turn the whole system upside down

But the system had other ideas I got lifted for carryin' a gun In a trial without a jury I got fourteen years from the judge

Screws beat me regularly

But they couldn't break me because I had the love of my comrades And a burnin' faith in my Cause

Still I left a girl outside pregnant Married her while on remand Now I got a son and a pain in my heart When he doesn't recognize his old man

Your soul's on ice oh oh oh oh But they can't stop the desire To break on out oh oh oh oh When your heart is on fire

We wouldn't wear their convict clothes So they stripped us to the bone Threw in some threadbare blankets.....

And when they jeered us about our nakedness As we slopped out down the halls We wouldn't come out of their prison cells We smeared shit on their prison walls

Stuck in an eight foot concrete box With a bible, a mattress And the threat of violence every day....

Can I make it through these fourteen years

Will my son remember my face I don't blame her for the separation But for Christ's sake let him keep his name

Your soul's on ice oh oh oh oh But they can't stop the desire To break on out oh oh oh oh When your heart is on fire

Five simple things we ask of them Five simple things denied But Thatcher will not compromise....

I ask my Mother's permission To finally break her heart We have come to a decision ......Hunger Strike

Three comrades starve behind me

I pray to God that my Death will lead to compromise....

I can no longer see your face My bones break through my skin I'm goin' back to Belfast City You can't cage my spirit in

Your soul's on ice But they can't stop the desire To break on out When your heart is on fire

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'

A Sad Song for Susie

’ written by Bobby Sands, sang by Brendan McFarlane

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I'm sitting at the window, I'm looking down the street I am watching for your face, I'm listening for your feet. Outside the wind is blowing and it's just begun to rain, And it's being here without you that's causing me such pain.

My mind's wandering back again, to when you were here And I wish I had you now, I wish that you were near. I remember the winter nights when you warned me from the cold And in the spring when we walked through green fields and skies of gold.

You're gone, you're gone, but you'll live on in my memory.

In summer we played with the kids and you brought us young Jane, But now - now it's lonely and cold and it's winter once again.

It's dark now, I see, the stars are out way up in the sky, And oh! how they remind me of the sparkle in your eye.

I'm lonely, yes, I'm lonelier than the cold wind that blows, Are you happy, are you all right? I suppose God only knows. And darling all the people are going to bed and the kids are crying for you - How can I tell them you're dead?

You're gone, you're gone but you'll live on in my memory,

You're gone, you're gone but you'll live on in my memory.

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The Ballad of Mairead Farrell

’ by Seanchai & The Unity Squad

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Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there I do not sleep Do not stand at my grave and cry When Ireland lives i do not die

A womans place is no at home The fight for fredom it still goes on I took up my gun until freedoms day I pledged to fight for the I.R.A.

In Armagh jail I served my time

Strip searches were a British crime Degraded me but they could not see I suffered this to see Ireland free

BREAK

Gibralta Rock's the place I died McCann and Savage were by my side I heard the order loud and shrill Of Thatchers voice, said SHOOT TO KILL

So do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there, I do not sleep Do not stand at my grave and cry When reland lives I do not die When Ireland lives I do not die

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The Ballad of Bobby Sands

’ written and sang by Gerry O’Glacain

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Oh Irishmen remember well Our heroes who in action fell And those who died in the prison cell

Like Bobby Sands from Belfast

An Irish soldier to the last A criminal he would not be classed And so began a long day fast Of Bobby Sands from Belfast

So proud Britannia hide your face Throughout the world you are disgraced How many more must take the place Of Bobby Sands from Belfast

The gallant Hughes from Derry's hills He fought against the tyrants will O'Hara and McCreesh you've killed Like Bobby Sands from Belfast

And the world will never understand Why you denied their just demands A lingering death with your heartless plan

for those like Sands from Belfast

Now Britannia, all the world must know how England treats a helpless foe Your British justice, it is laid low Like Bobby Sands from Belfast

So proud Britannia hide your face Throughout the world you are disgraced How many more must take the place Of Bobby Sands from Belfast

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The Roll of Honour

’ written by Gerry O’Glacain, sang by Eire Og

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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 !"

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The Men Behind The Wire

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser. Written by Paddy McGuigan, Performed by The Barleycorn [Chorus] Armoured cars and tanks and guns Came to take away our sons But every man must stand behind The men behind the wire Through the little streets of Belfast In the dark of early morn British soldiers came marauding Wrecking little homes with scorn Heedless of the crying children Dragging fathers from their beds Beating sons while helpless mothers Watched the blood poor from their heads [Chorus] Not for them a judge and jury Nor indeed a crime at all But being Irish means they’re guilty So we’re guilty one and all Round the world the truth will echo Cromwell’s men are here again England’s name again is sullied In the eyes of honest men. [Chorus] Proudly march behind our banners Firmly stand behind our men We will have them free to help us Build a nation once again All the people step together Proudly, firmly, on your way Never fear and never falter Till the boys come home to stay [Chorus]

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Only Our Rivers Run Free

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser. – - performed by Kathleen Largey, Lyrics by Michael McConnell When apples still grow in November When blossoms still bloom from each tree, When leaves are still green in December, It’s then that our land will be free. I wander her hills and her valleys, And still through my sorrow I see A land that has never known freedom And only her rivers run free. I drink to the death of her manhood, Those men who would rather have died Than to live in the cold chains of bondage, To bring back their rights were denied. Oh were are you now when we need you, What burns where the flame used to be, Are ye gone like the snows of last winter, And will only our rivers run free. How sweet is life but we’re crying How mellow the wine that were dry, How fragrant the rose, but it’s dying, How gentle the wind but it sighs. What good is in youth when it’s aging, What joy is in eyes that can’t see, When there’s sorrow and sunshine and flowers, And still only our rivers run free.

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Our lads in Crumlin Jail

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser. - Performed by Kathleen Largey

In Ireland’s fight for freedom, boys,

The North has played its part, Though the day has still to come, We’ve never yet lost heart, For we’ll fight it out until the end We’ll fight for we cannot fail. We know we’ll win although they have Our lads in Crumlin Jail. We give to Erin Owen Roe, We give her Shane O'Neill, Tone and Cavehill made a vow, That England still can feel, Joe McKelvey did not die in vain, He too was a Northern Gael. And that’s another reason why They keep our lads in Crumlin Jail. Bravely too great Ardoyne men The Markets and the Falls From Ballymurphy and Short Strand They’re inside those grey walls. No fear have they for ….. …………………………. And that’s another reason why They keep our lads in Crumlin Jail. Keep on the fight you Volunteers For God is on our side Jail can’t break a spirit … They’d just as soon have died. For England knows and England hates The fearless Northern Gaels And that’s another reason why They keep our lads in Crumlin Jail And that’s another reason why They came our lads in Crumlin Jail

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James Connolly

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser. - performed by Kathleen Largey Many years have rolled by since the Irish rebellion, When the guns of Brittania they loudly did speak, When the bold IRA battled shoulder to shoulder, While the blood from their bodies flowed down Sackville Street. The Four Courts of Dublin, the English bombarded, The spirit of freedom, they tried hard to quell But amid all the din came a voice, “No Surrender!” ’Twas the voice of James Connolly, the Irish Rebel. A great crowd has gathered outside of Kilmainham With their heads all uncovered they knelt on the ground For inside that grim prison lay a true Irish soldier His life for his country about to lay down. He went to his death like a true son of Ireland, The firing party he bravely did face. Then the order rang out: “Present arms, Fire!” James Connolly fell into a ready made grave. The black flag they hoisted, the cruel deed was over, Gone was a man who loved Ireland so well, There was many a sad heart in Dublin that morning, When they murdered James Connolly, the Irish rebel. God’s curse on you, England, you cruel hearted monster, Your deeds would shame all the devils in Hell, There are no flowers blooming but the Shamrock is still growing On the grave of James Connolly, the Irish rebel.

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Four Green Fields

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser. - written by Tommy Makem and performed by The Flying Column What did I have, said the fine old woman What did I have, this proud old woman did say I had four green fields, each one was a jewel But strangers came and tried to take them from me I had fine strong sons, they fought to save my jewels They fought and they died, and that was my grief said she Long time ago, said the fine old woman Long time ago, this proud old woman did say There was war and death, plundering and pillage My people starved, by mountain, valley and sea And their wailing cries, they reached the very heavens And my four green fields ran red with their blood, said she What have I now, said the fine old woman What have I now, this proud old woman did say I have four green fields, one of them’s in bondage In stranger’s hands, that tried to take it from me But my sons they have sons, as brave as were their fathers And my fourth green field will bloom once again said she

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The Auld Triangle

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser. - By Brendan Behan from his play ‘The Quare Fellow’ - performed by The Dubliners A hungry feeling came o’er me stealing And the mice were squealing in my prison cell And the auld triangle went jingle jangle All along the banks of the Royal Canal To begin the morning a screw was bawling ‘Get up you bowsie and clean up your cell’ And the auld triangle went jingle jangle All along the banks of the Royal Canal On a fine spring evening the lag lay dreaming The seagulls wheeling high over the wall And the auld triangle went jingle jangle All along the banks of the Royal Canal The lags were sleeping, Humpy Gussy was creeping As I lay there weeping for my girl Sal And the auld triangle went jingle jangle All along the banks of the Royal Canal The wind was rising and the day declining As I lay pining in my prison cell And the auld triangle went jingle jangle All along the banks of the Royal Canal In the female prison there are seventy five women ’Tis among them I wish I did dwell And the auld triangle went jingle jangle All along the banks of the Royal Canal The day was dying and the wind was sighing As I lay crying in my prison cell And the auld triangle went jingle jangle All along the banks of the Royal Canal

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Bobby - by Bébhinn Hurley

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Bobby by Bébhinn Hurley.

Upon your death, As you spent those final breathes, She’ll never spend the soles of those who weep, Upon the streets, of Tehran, Into the arms of every man, She casts the sole of this demised, Freedom fighter to the streets of, Bobby Sands. Pegasus on broken past, Beats his wings against the glass, Chandeliers, my cavalier is in, The sinking sand and sinking fast, You must not struggle, Now she is above your mouth, Still just below your breath, And she said, “this is it, this is the one we’ve been waiting for”, Take him down, overthrow their laws, Take this land, take this man, He refuses to wear our uniforms! 1981, “Some mothers son”, Drained and chained, he turns to bone, But to you he’s just some mother’s son! These are your ways, and no other ways, and now, Now the lights are lime but he is fading all the time, Take this land, take this man, He refuses to wear our uniforms. 1981, “Some mothers son”, Drained and chained, he turns to bone, But to you he’s just some mother’s son. And the whole world was watching, It’s too late you did nothing, And we can’t physically see him anymore But he’s still here, And your prisoners of war may have turned to dust, But our warriors for freedom now live in us! Upon your death, As you spent those final breathes, She’ll never spend the soles of those who weep, Upon the streets, of Tehran, Into the arms of every man, She casts the sole of this demised, Freedom fighter to the streets of, Bobby Sands. Return to song list  

Free Nelson Mandela - by The Specials

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Mandela Day (1988) - by Simple Minds

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Mandela Day (2008) - by Simple Minds

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Biko- by Peter Gabriel

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Joe Hill- by Paul Robeson

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Joe Hill- by Joan Baez

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I've Got To Know - by Woody Guthrie

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La zamba del Ché - by Víctor Jara

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Victor Jara - by Arlo Guthrie

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De mi pueblo para la guerrilla - by Julian Conrado

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