Tom: D
D A7
Oh, not now for songs of a nation's
D
wrongs,
not the groans of starving
A7 D
labor;
A7 D
Let the rifle ring and the bullet sing
G D
to the clash of the flashing sabre!
D A7
There are Irish ranks on the tented
D
banks
A7 D
of Columbia's guarded ocean;
A7
And an iron clank from flank to
D
flank
G D
tells of armed men in motion
D A7 D
The Irish green shall again be seen
A7 D
as our Irish fathers bore it,
A7
A burning wind from the South
D
behind,
G D
and the Yankee rout before it!
D A7
O'Neil's red hand shall purge the
D
land-
A7 D
Rain a fire on men and cattle,
Till the Lincoln snakes in their
A7 D
own cold lakes
G D
Plunge from the blaze of battle
D A7
Whoe'er shall march by triumphal
D
March
A7 D
Whoe'er may swell the slaughter,
Our drums shall roll from the
A7 D
Capitol
G D
O'er Potomac's fateful water!
D A7
Rise, bleeding ghosts, to the Lord of (
D
Hosts
A7 D
For judgement final and solemn;
A7
Your fanatic horde to the edge if the
D
sword
Is doomed line square and
G D
column
