Oh the Empire it is finished No foreign lands to seize So the greedy eye of England I stirring towards the seas Two hundred miles from Donegal There'
Well it was Sunday bloody Sunday When they shot the people there The cries of thirteen martyrs Filled the Free Derry air Is there any one amongst you
I was eighteen years old when I went down to Dublin With a fistfull of money and a cartload of dreams. "Take your time," said my father, "stop rushing
