JAMES LARKIN
(Donagh McDonagh)

In Dublin City in nineteen thirteen,
The boss was rich and the poor were slaves,
The women working and children starving,
Then on came Larkin like a mighty wave.
The workers cringed when the boss man thundered,
Seventy hours was his weekly chore,
He asked for little and less was grante
Lest given little then he'd ask for more.

In the month of August the boss man told us,
No union man for him could work,
We stood by Larkin and told the boss man,
We'd fight or die, but we wouldn't shirk.
Eight months we fought and eight months we starved,
We stood by Larkin through thick and thin,
But foodless homes and the crying of children,
It broke our hearts, we just couldn't win.

Then Larkin left us, we seemed defeated,
The night was black for the working man,
But on came Connolly with new hope and counsel,
His motto was that we'd rise again.
In nineteen sixteen in Dublin City,
The English soldiers they burnt our town,
The shelled our buildings and shot our leaders,
The Harp was buried 'neath the bloody crown.

They shot McDermott and Pearse and Plunkett,
They shot McDonagh and Clarke the brave,
From bleak Kilmainham they took Ceannt's body,
To Arbour Hill and a quicklime grave.
But last of all of the seven heroes,
I sing the praise of James Connolly,
The voice of justice, the voice of freedom,
He gave his life, that man might be free.

copyright Donagh McDonagh
@Irish @rebel
filename[ JLARKIN
GG
apr00
mudcat.org

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