O Paddy dear, an' did ye hear the news that's goin' round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground;
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen,
For there's a cruel law agin the wearin' o' the Green.
O I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand
And he asked 'How's poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?'
She's the most distressful country this world has yet to see
For they're hangin' men and women there for wearin' o' the green
And if the colour we must wear is England's cruel red,
Will serve to remind us of all the blood that she has shed,
So take the shamrock from your hat and cast it in the sod,
But never fear, 'twill take root there, though under foot 'tis trod
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground;
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen,
For there's a cruel law agin the wearin' o' the Green.
O I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand
And he asked 'How's poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?'
She's the most distressful country this world has yet to see
For they're hangin' men and women there for wearin' o' the green
And if the colour we must wear is England's cruel red,
Will serve to remind us of all the blood that she has shed,
So take the shamrock from your hat and cast it in the sod,
But never fear, 'twill take root there, though under foot 'tis trod