In Dublin city in 1913
The boss was boss and the poor were slaves,
The women working and the children hungry,
Then on came Larkin like a might wave.
The workmen cringed when the bossman thundered
And just ten hours was his weekly chore
He asked for little and less was granted
Thus getting little he would ask for more.
Then God sent Larkin, so dark and handsome,
A might man with a mighty tongue,
The voice of justice, the voice of labor,
And he was gifted and he was young.
And God sent Larkin, in 1913,
A mighty man with a mighty tongue,
He raised the workers, he gave them courage;
He was their leader, a worker's son.
In the month of August the bossman told us
No union man for him could work.
We stood for Larkin, we told the bossman,
We'd fight or die but we would not 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 and we could not win.
Then Larkin left us, we seemed defeated,
The night was dark for the working man.
Along came Connolly with hope and counsel
His motto was that we'd rise again.
In Dublin city, in 1916,
The English soldiers, they burned the town.
They shelled the buildings, they shot our leaders.
Their heart was buried beneath the Crown.
They shot MacDermott and Pearse and Plunkett,
They shot MacDonagh and Clarke the brave [38]
From bleak Kilmainham they took their bodies
To Arbour Hill and a quick lime grave. [39]
And last of all our 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.
The boss was boss and the poor were slaves,
The women working and the children hungry,
Then on came Larkin like a might wave.
The workmen cringed when the bossman thundered
And just ten hours was his weekly chore
He asked for little and less was granted
Thus getting little he would ask for more.
Then God sent Larkin, so dark and handsome,
A might man with a mighty tongue,
The voice of justice, the voice of labor,
And he was gifted and he was young.
And God sent Larkin, in 1913,
A mighty man with a mighty tongue,
He raised the workers, he gave them courage;
He was their leader, a worker's son.
In the month of August the bossman told us
No union man for him could work.
We stood for Larkin, we told the bossman,
We'd fight or die but we would not 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 and we could not win.
Then Larkin left us, we seemed defeated,
The night was dark for the working man.
Along came Connolly with hope and counsel
His motto was that we'd rise again.
In Dublin city, in 1916,
The English soldiers, they burned the town.
They shelled the buildings, they shot our leaders.
Their heart was buried beneath the Crown.
They shot MacDermott and Pearse and Plunkett,
They shot MacDonagh and Clarke the brave [38]
From bleak Kilmainham they took their bodies
To Arbour Hill and a quick lime grave. [39]
And last of all our 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.