I saw the shamrock fall,
I saw the shamrock mourn and rot
for Ireland's children, noble beings,
succumbed to England's scorn.

The mother's arms are open,
her children run from her breast
for the English started hanging us
for the wearing of the green.

O' Ireland, your tears have spilled
and reddened your pretty Celtic eyes,
you're full of forlorn and pain
for the Ires die away.

The English rag arises,
the cross barefacedly waved;
the ****** red, left-right strokes
have been drawn on Ireland's chest.

She was stripped of a family,
all bleeding and alone;
now she's fallen to the ground
where her children also fell
when they broke their necks
or when their air was gone;
now all that's left is the wonderful grass
where us fallen lay beneath;
our loving mother is back,
protecting us wearers
the wearers of the green!