(written on a night out with Sam waling Dublin's ways on the trail of James Joyce, after listening to a few too many fighting Irish ballads)
We were walking down O'Connell Street
and the lights were hanging low.
The night had just gone darker and the rain had turned to snow.
Sam took out his pop gun and the bullets started flying.
The people sitting in the pub were keeling over dying.
I said to Sam, “Give them a break what did they do to you. “
He said "Come on back to jail with me, that's all their taxes do.
They locked me up for four years
These Dublin born elitists .
So I'll send them down to heaven where they won’t be mistreated.
For that's what they deserve my friend.
That’s what they deserve.
I would not give them any less than they deserve my friend."
David thought about it hard along the Liffey
If class were more than money he thought it a great pity.
If only men could overcome the shackles of the past.
To overcome that dreaded beast is an enormous task.
But leading them are martyrs who fought so hard and died.
We shan’t forget their valiance, we'll carry on their pride.
Soon we will conquer
the great grim walls of Kilmainham gaol,
in our songs our children know how we have prevailed
Our fight will last until all will have equity world wide .
and we must yearn for justice or pay for liber-tie.