In Dublin city in 1913,
The boss was rich and the poor were slaves,
The women working and the children starving,
Then on came Larkin like a mighty wave.
The workers cringed when the bossman thundered.
Seventy hours was his weekly chore.
He asked for little and less was granted,
Lest getting little he would ask for more.
In the month of August the bossman told us
No union man for him could work.
We stood by Larkin and told the bossman
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
They broke our hearts; we just couldnt 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 1916 in Dublin
The English soldiers they burnt our town.
They shelled the buildings and shot our leaders;
The harp was buried neath the bloody crown.
They shot McDermott and Pearse and Plunkett,
The shot McDonagh
and Clarke the brave.
From bleak Kilmainham they took their bodies
To Arbour Hill, to a quicklime grave.
But last of all, of the seven heroes,
I'll sing the praise of James Connolly,
The voice of justice, the voice of freedom,
Who gave his life that men might be free.