Dublin Men (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Pacing slowly down the road
    Black horses go, with load on load
    Of Dublin people dead, and they
    Will be covered up in clay.

    Ere their friends go home, each man
    Will shake his head, and drain a can
    To Dublin people we will meet
    Not again in Grafton Street.

    When a Dublin man shall say,
    "Give me a little bread, I pray,"
    If you do not give him bread
    You will be hungry when he is fed.

    And let no priest or magistrate
    Scowl upon the poor man's plate,
    Asking him the question sly
    To which no one can reply.

    The lark shall never come to say
    To a gombeen-man, "Good day,"
    And the lark shall never cry
    To a kindly man, "Good-bye."

    See the greedy gombeen-man
    Taking everything he can
    From man and woman, dog and cat,
    And the lark does not like that.

    The wind stood up and gave a shout;
        He whistled on his fingers, and
    Kicked the withered leaves about
        And thumped the branches with his hand,
    And said he'd kill, and kill, and kill,
    And so he will, and so he will.

    When you meet an ancient man,
    Be as silent as you can;
    So when old age comes to you,
    Courtesies shall gather too.

    And King Billy's horse will start
    From our street and from our heart,
    When each Irishman shall be
    Perfected in courtesy.

    If in winter you shall drive
    Birds from crumbs, you shall not thrive;
    But if you feed them, they will fly
    To sing it sweetly on the sky.

    So throw up the window, and
    Scatter with a lavish hand,
    Taking care you do not spill
    Flower-pots from the window-sill,

    Singing, "Ireland shall be free
    From the centre to the sea";
    Singing bravely once again,
    "We are Dan O'Connell's Men."