In Dublin city in 1913
The boss was boss and employed a slave
The woman worked while the child went hungry
Then Larkin came like a towering wave.
The worker cringed when the bossman thundered
And seventy hours was his weekly chore
He asked for little and less was granted
Lest getting little he'd ask for more.
Then God sent Larkin, so dark and handsome
A mighty man with a powerful tongue
The voice of labour the voice of justice
And he was gifted and he was young.
Then God sent Larkin in 1913
A powerful man with a gifted tongue
He raised the worker and gave him courage
He was the hero the worker sung.
In the month of August the bossman told us
No union man for him could work
We stood by Larkin we told the bossman
To fight, to starve we would not shirk.
Eight months we faught and eight months we starved
We followed Larkin through thick and thin
But foodless homes and the crying children
They broke our hearts and we coild not win.
Then Larkin left us, we seemed defeated
The night was dark for us working men
But Connolly rose with new hope and council
He gave the slogan "We'll rise again!"
In Dublin Citry in 1916
The British army burnt down the town
They shelled the city they took the leaders
The harp was buried beneath the crown.
They shot MacDonagh and Pearse and Plunkett
They shot MacDermott and Clark the brave.
From bleak Kilmainham they took Ceannt's body
To Arbor Hill to a quicklime grave.
But last of all of the seven captains
A dying man they shot Connolly
The voice of labour, the voice of justice
Who gave his life that men might be free.
The boss was boss and employed a slave
The woman worked while the child went hungry
Then Larkin came like a towering wave.
The worker cringed when the bossman thundered
And seventy hours was his weekly chore
He asked for little and less was granted
Lest getting little he'd ask for more.
Then God sent Larkin, so dark and handsome
A mighty man with a powerful tongue
The voice of labour the voice of justice
And he was gifted and he was young.
Then God sent Larkin in 1913
A powerful man with a gifted tongue
He raised the worker and gave him courage
He was the hero the worker sung.
In the month of August the bossman told us
No union man for him could work
We stood by Larkin we told the bossman
To fight, to starve we would not shirk.
Eight months we faught and eight months we starved
We followed Larkin through thick and thin
But foodless homes and the crying children
They broke our hearts and we coild not win.
Then Larkin left us, we seemed defeated
The night was dark for us working men
But Connolly rose with new hope and council
He gave the slogan "We'll rise again!"
In Dublin Citry in 1916
The British army burnt down the town
They shelled the city they took the leaders
The harp was buried beneath the crown.
They shot MacDonagh and Pearse and Plunkett
They shot MacDermott and Clark the brave.
From bleak Kilmainham they took Ceannt's body
To Arbor Hill to a quicklime grave.
But last of all of the seven captains
A dying man they shot Connolly
The voice of labour, the voice of justice
Who gave his life that men might be free.
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