Chords for David Kincaid - Song of the Irish Brigade

[N] _ [Gm] _ _ [F#m] _ _ _ _ _
[F] Not now for the songs of a nation's wrongs, Not the grunts of starving _ labour,
Let the rifle ring and the bullets sing To the clash of the flashing _ _ _ sabre.
There are Irish ranks on the tented banks Of Columbia's guarded _ ocean,
And an iron clank from flank to flank Till the dawned men in motion.
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And the Franks' souls there clear to and bare to,
All as the steel [C] beside [F]
them, And love or hate with the strength of hate
Till the grave of the bayons hide them.
_ It seems to be he, mailed avery, Whose sword's avenging glory
Must light the fight and smite for right Like a brine's in golden _ _ story. _ _ _ _ _ _
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Though with pale affright and panicked life Shall luster the Yankees' blade,
Somehow, their Celtic race from their battle Is charged to their shout [Dm] of
Fa, fa, [F] fa, fa!
_ By the souls of old, by the land we love, Her tears bleeding _ patience,
The sled is robbed, that shall smash to moth, The brazen fire of the sun. _ _ _ _ _ _ _
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The _ Irish green shall again be seen As our Irish [C] fathers [F] bore it,
Burning the wind from the south behind And the Yankee [Dm] rout before _ [F]
this.
_ O'er Neal's red hand shall purge the land, Rain of fire on men and _ cattle,
Till the Lincoln's makes in their own code They expunge her from the place of battle. _ _ _ _ _ _ _
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The nails that rest on _ Columbia's rest And the voice of Truman's tiny bull
Will _ exorcise from the rescue rise Our Tannies and the rifle. _
_ Now for a tyrant's life, a foamy knife Of union of _ _ dissolvers,
The best we can are Stalwart and _ Columbia Don't devolve us. _ _ _ _ _ _
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O'er shall a march by _ Triumphal Arc, O'er may swell the slaughter,
Our rum shall derail from the capital, Or Potomac's faithful _ water.
_ _ Arise, fleeting oaths to the Lord of oaths, For judgment, pain and _ sorrow,
Your fanatic horde to the edge of the sword Is doomed [Dm] like square and [F] column. _ _ _ _ _ _ _
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