O Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?
The Shamrock is by laws forbid, to grow on Irish ground!
St. Patrick's day no more will keep his colours can be seen;
For, they 're hanging men and women for the Wearing of the Green!
I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand,
he said: How is dear Ould Ireland, and how does she stand?
She's the most distressful Country that you have ever seen:
For they are hanging men and women for the Wearing of the Green!
For the Wearing of the Green! For the Wearing of the Green!
They are hanging men and women for the Wearing of the Green!
And since the color we must wear is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed.
You may take the Shamrock from your hat, and cast it on the sod:
It will take root, and flourish there, tho' under foot 'tis trod.
My father loved his country, and sleeps within its breast,
While I that would have died for her, must never be so blest;
Those tears my mother shed for me, how bitter they'd have been,
If I had proved a traitor to "The wearing of the green."
For the Wearing of the Green! For the Wearing of the Green!
They are hanging men and women for the Wearing of the Green!
But if, at last, her colors should be torn from Ireland's heart,
Her sons, with shame and sorrow, from the dear old isle will part;
I've heard whispers of a land that lies beyond the sea,
Where rich and poor stand equal, in the light of Freedom's day!
O Ireland! Must we leave you driven by the tyrant's hand!
And seek a Mother's blessing, from a strange and distant land,
Where the cruel Cross of England shall never more to be seen:
And in that land we'll live and die, still Wearing Ireland's Green!
For the Wearing of the Green! For the Wearing of the Green!
They are hanging men and women for the Wearing of the Green!
For the Wearing of the Green! For the Wearing of the Green!
They are hanging men and women for the Wearing of the Green!