Oh, Paddy dear, and 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 agin'

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."



Then since the color we must wear

Is England's cruel red,

Sure Ireland's songs will ne'er forget

The blood that they have shed.

You may take the shamrock from your hat now,

Cast it on the sod,

But 'twill take root and flourish still,

Tho' under foot it's trod.

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 canteen;

But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick

To wearing of the green