The Wearing Of The Green

Originale

"The Wearing of the Green" is an anonymous Irish street ballad...

THE WEARING OF THE GREEN Oh, Paddy dear, did you hear The news that's going round? The shamrock is forbid by law To grow on Irish ground! St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep, His color can't be seen, For there's a bloomin' law against The wearing of the green. The wearing of the green, Oh! The wearing of the green. There's a bloomin' law against the wearing of the green. I met with Napper Tandy And he took me by the hand, And he said, "How's poor old Ireland And how does she stand?" "She's the most distressful country That ever yet was seen; They're hanging men and women there For wearing of the green." The wearing of the green, Oh! The wearing of the green. They're hanging men and women for the wearing of the green. Then since the color we must wear Is England's cruel red, Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget The blood that they have shed. You may take the shamrock from your hat, And cast it on the sod, But it'll take root and flourish still, Tho' under foot it's trod. The wearing of the green, Oh! The wearing of the green. There's a bloomin' law against the wearing of the green. When the law can stop the blades of green From growing as they grow, And when the leaves in summertime Their verdue dare not show, Then I will change the color that I Wear in my caubeen; But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick To wearing of the green. The wearing of the green, Oh! The wearing of the green. 'Till that day, please God, I'll stick To wearing of the green.

THE WEARING OF THE GREEN 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. I met wid Napper Tandy and he took me by the hand, And he said, "How's dear ould Ireland, and how does she stand?" She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen, For they're hangin' men an' women there for the wearin' o' the Green. Then since the colour we must wear is England's cruel red, Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed, You may take a shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod, It will take root and flourish there though underfoot it's trod. When law can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow, And when the leaves in summer-time their colour dare not show, Then will I change the colour, too, I wear in my caubeen But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearin' o' the Green. But if at last our colour should be torn from Ireland's heart, Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old isle will part; I've heard a whisper of a land that lies beyond the sea Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom's day. O Erin, must we leave you driven by a tyrant's hand? Must we ask a mother's blessing from a strange and distant land? Where the cruel cross of England shall nevermore be seen, And where, please God, we'll live and die still wearin' o' the green!