Today we meet a civic band In proud congratulation To celebrate the gallant stand Which saved our faith and nation No recreant fear shall hush the cheer Which waks us to remember The closing gate and boyish feat Of glorious old December.
Then raise the cheer to freemen dear And toast each brave defender For nought imparts to Derry hearts A thrill like No surrender.
Brave hearts they stuck the rallying blow For each loved home and altar Nor traitor friend nor bigot foe Their plighted faith could falter Old Walker's zeal and Murray's steel Came in their need to cheer them And sallies great from open gate Soon taught their foe to fear them.
Then raise the cheer to freemen dear And toast each brave defender For nought imparts to Derry hearts A thrill like No surrender.
Gainst Mighty odds they held their wall Through plague and grim starvation Combined to cause their city's fall And crush the hapless nation True to their trust no craven durst E'en breathe the word SURRENDER For gathering ill but nerved the will Of each resolved Defender!
Then raise the cheer to freemen dear And toast each brave defender For nought imparts to Derry hearts A thrill like No surrender.
Till townward on Foyle's rising tide Brave Browning's vessel bounded A shock-a crash-a belched broadside And victory's note has sounded Then banded here, from year to year We'll cherish the proud story Come weal or woe no plotting foe Shall rob us of our glory!
Then raise the cheer to freemen dear And toast each brave defender For nought imparts to Derry hearts A thrill like No surrender.
Come all you men who gather here and listen to my plea, Come fight for God and Ulster and maintain her liberty, Come join the men from Armagh, and give a mighty cheer, They're the men who do the business, the Mid-Ulster Volunteers.
So get up on your eet and follow me and join these men today, These men who'll do their duty and destroy the I.R.A, Come and join these brave young men, These men they are the best, For the men who do the business, The Mid-Ulster U.V.F.
Through the years these men have fought and served against the 'Ra, These men who fight for Ulster from the county of Armagh, United by the conflict, United by their fears, They're the men who do the business, The Mid-Ulster Volunteers.
So get up on your eet and follow me and join these men today, These men who'll do their duty and destroy the I.R.A, Come and join these brave young men, These men they are the best, For the men who do the business, The Mid-Ulster U.V.F.
You can talk about your ceasfire, you can talk about your peace, You can talk about de-commissioning arms until you're blue in the face, You can talk about anything you want, but the talk down through the years, Are the men who do the business, The Mid-Ulster Volunteers.
So get up on your eet and follow me and join these men today, These men who'll do their duty and destroy the I.R.A, Come and join these brave young men, These men they are the best, For the men who do the business, The Mid-Ulster U.V.F.
On a cold winters morning, On a bus bound for Milltown, There sat Michael Stone armed with hand grenades and guns, With a smile as sleakit as a snake my friend and a Duffell coat to his knees, He sat in the chapel with Gerry and Martin and listened to thier hail mary's.
Well he walked into the cemetary and hs spoke to the guards again, They just waved and winked at him, As he walked on by, And he stood in the crowds with all the people, as if he was one of thier own, But as soon as they started talkin in Irish Micheal began to throw.
Well he knew when to hold them, Knew when to throw them, Knew when to run, But he never he just walked away, And the fenians started chasing him, There was twenty dozen more, Michael stopped, Had a wee look, And threw a couple more.
Well he knew when to hold them, Knew when to throw them, Knew when to run, But he never he just walked away, And the fenians started chasing him, There was no hedges or alley's, But it was Michael 3 - Milltown 0, Chucky your bollocks.
Well he knew when to hold them, Knew when to throw them, Knew when to run, But he never he just walked away, And the fenians started chasing him, There was no hedges or alley's, But it was Michael 3 - Milltown 0, Chucky your bollocks.
'Twas a cold and grey November morn, as I left Belfast town, In a cold and lonely prison van, for Long Kesh I was bound, 'Cause my spirit was unbroken and my heart was still un-found, Why, I knew that i'd soon be with the men behind the wire.
When the judge had passed my sentence and the warder took me down, I cried out no surrender bless the red hand and the crown, But grant me just one favour, that is my one desire, Please let me serve my sentence with the men behind the wire.
There were many things so strange to me and many more I knew, His only cry was Loyalty to the old red white and blue, And the love for dear old Ulster, Even in the darkest hour, He'd shine with them these loyal men, the men behind the wire.
And when this war is over and our victory is won, Let us not forget the sacrifice made by these loyal sons, They were staunch and true for me and you so lift your glasses higher, Where would we have been without them, the men behind the wire.
50 men went to Longkesh, 9 long months ago, They'd just been loyal, in fighting our foe, But we won't forget them, We'll fight to the death, To release our comrades, in the U.V.F, Remember the loyalist prisoners, in this year of '74.
Their wives and their children, are suffering the most, Good luck to them all, comfort them in their loss, Remember dead heroes, and comfort their wives, Look after their children, and please be their guide, Remember the loyalist prisoners, in this year of '74.
Remember their mothers and fathers as well, For they raised great heroes, who had served us so well, Oh so brothers and sisters, who've takentheir stand, To fight off the evil on Ulster's fair land, Remember the loyalist prisoners, in this year of '74.
I am a loyal protestant from Belfast town I come A story I will tell to you about these rebel scum They've tried for many year with gun and bomb to wear us down
But we always will be faithful to the Red Hand and the Crown Whenever I was just a child upon my mothers knee
She taught me told me I must always fight to keep my liberty The words and memory still come back right to this very day For freedom now is threatened by the rebel IRA And when at last these evil men have been brought to their knees
We'll drink a toast to Ulster and her loyal 6 counties And to all Loyalist prisoners, gods blessing on them be to all those loyal brethren grateful thanks from you and me.
From Loyal veins my life I drew, In Loyal arms I lay, From Loyal Lips that Lessons new, That led me day by day, And hearts to rest in Loyal Breast, And rocked on Loyal knee, They wore and grew and thank God too, A Loyal Heart in me.
Then came the day for all to view, When scorn and lies held sway, Those evil men with no virtue, They swore my life away, But for dare or ill I am Loyal Still, They never can decree, To force retreat or stop the beat, The Loyal Heart in me.
At times I sigh at times I rest, Amid Scenes and faces strange, The passing years have in my breast, Brought little or no change, Memories of old ever bright I hold, Since rocked on Loyal knee, And for her sake no jail will break, This Loyal Heart in me.
Tonight I dream about my Maiden city I'll go back to the days I spent there as a boy I dream about the friends I left behind me in my city, Londonderry on the Foyle
Well my mother she writes to my here twice weekly and she tells me all the things are going on and she tells me of the bombings and the shootings in my city, Londonderry on the Foyle
But tonight I lay upon my bed I'm dreaming I am dreaming of the friends I left behind me And I dream about my sweetheart in the Fountain In my city, Londonderry on the Foyle
But once more I am coming home aboard the steamship On Lough Foyle once more I'm passing by Colmore And I see those old walls still standing They''re round my city Londonderry on the Foyle
I can see the old cathedral it's still standing and not far away the old Memorial Hall And I see the crimson banner, it's still flying Over my city Londonderry on the Foyle.
Ye Protestants of Ulster, I pray you join with me, Your voices raise in lofty praise and show your loyalty, Extol the day we marched away with Orange flags so fine, In order to commemorate the conquest of the Boyne.
The first who fought upon the day the Prince of Orange was, He headed our brave forefathers in their most glorious cause, Protestant rights aye to maintain, and pop'ry to degrade, And in the memory of the same we fought a Lisnagade.
'Twas early in the morning before the rise of sun, An information we received, our foes each with his gun In ambush lay, near the highway, intrenched within a fort, Just to disgrace our Orange flag, but soon we spoilt their sport.
We had not march'd a mile or so, when the white flag we espy'd With a branch of podoreens displayed, on which they much rely'd And this inscription underneath-"Hail Mary! Unto thee- Deliver us from these Orange dogs, and then we shall be free,
At half an hour past two o'clock the firing did commence, With clouds of smoke and showers of ball, mid passion most intense, They called unto their patron saint, to whom they us'd to pray, But none were near their prayer to hear, and so they ran away
When the last war is waged, and the last post is played When the last boy is laid, and the last prayer is said When the last mother cries and the last tear drop dries When the last son is gone, we'll now remember the Somme.
When the last word is spoken and the last promise is broken When the last wind has blown and the last bird has flown When the last trumpet sounds to raise the dead from the ground Those who fell on the Somme together on that morn.
And they know when their gone, on that first of July morn Always in their prime, forever caught in time.
And they know when their gone, on that first of July morn Always in their prime, forever caught in time.
The glorious days of Aughrim's field - The day of chivalry We'll ne'er forget, when helm and shield Were bless'd with victory! Like wildfire flashed our engines, then Red havoc spread dismay, Up, rouse ye, then, my merry Orangemen, It is King William's day!
To blast the torch of Liberty, Which our brave sires once fired, False James - the slave of bigotry - With Papist foes conspired But history's page tells where and when We made them run away, Up, rouse ye, then, my merry Orangemen, It is King William's day!
Another Boyne may have its fray, Another Aughrim rise, Another Londonderry may Shew where its martyr lies. And should such scenes blaze forth again - Stand close upon that day, Up, rouse ye, then, my merry Orangemen, It is King Williams day!
Well there's a famous painting that everybody knows It stands upon a gable wall over at Sandy Row In memory of King William and brothers who did join They fought for our deliverance at the Battle of the Boyne.
King Billy's on the wall King Billy's on the wall He stands so high, he shines so bright He lights up the falls There's millions come to see him, they stand and gaze in awe They remember 1690, King Billy's on the wall.
There are slogans painted in red, white and blue They tell the pope where he can go and what he can do There's one for Gerard Rice, well that's a different class Go take the Lower Ormeau Road and stick it up your arse.
King Billy's on the wall King Billy's on the wall He stands so high, he shines so bright He lights up the falls There's millions come to see him, they stand and gaze in awe They remember 1690, King Billy's on the wall.
Now the next time you're in Ulster won't you come and have a look Stand beside that mural and have your photo took Set it on the mantelpiece or hang it in the hall So the whole world can see King Billy's on the wall.
King Billy's on the wall King Billy's on the wall He stands so high, he shines so bright He lights up the falls There's millions come to see him, they stand and gaze in awe They remember 1690, King Billy's on the wall.
King Billy's on the wall King Billy's on the wall He stands so high, he shines so bright He lights up the falls There's millions come to see him, they stand and gaze in awe They remember 1690, King Billy's on the wall.
New Years Bells had been ringing, All of Scotland was singing, Sure the old year had died, And the new one had been born. As the news of disaster From Ibrox came spreading, The news that would cause A whole nation to mourn
Two great goals had been scored, In the last dying moments. Jimmy Johnstone for Celtic, And for Rangers’ Colin Stein. Their supporters all cheered them, With voices of thunder, Not knowing what waited on staircase 13
66 people died there, Some in flower of their manhood, When the fences gave way And the barriers they bent, Seasoned Glasgow policemen with their faces all tearstained, With brave efforts, endeavoured far worse to prevent.
All of Glasgow enjoined them, For the first time in history. In the Glasgow cathedral no Billy’s, no Dan’s But the Old Firm united to pray for their victims, Of a tragedy set in the memory of man.
New Year Bells had been ringing, All of Scotland was singing, Sure the old year had died, And the new one had been born. As the news of disaster From Ibrox came spreading, The news that would cause A whole nation to mourn.
Come all ye true and loyal hearts, Who love the Orange and the Blue, And level an ear to these few words I now address to you. 'Tis of a crewl papist act, But that is nothing new, The murder of the innocent, The Gallant and the True.
I'll tell you how at Montreal The Orange was put down, How true and loyal citizens Of that historic town Were not to show the colours, On the twelfth day of July, And the glorious Orange Banner They were not allowed to fly.
These grevious instructions Were issued by the Mayor, And so the gallant Hackett Was mobbed and murdered there. In defence of injured innnocence A lady, so they tell, Tho' they were more than ten to one He bravely fighting fell.
But this year will quickly pass, And another Twelfth will come, When with Orange banner's flying, Brass bands and fife and drum All heart and hand together Down to Montreal we'll go We'll show these Popish minions That we're no beaten foe.
In dungeon deep, I know what fates awaits me, Tied hand and foot, the foe has bound me fast, And in my pain, I pray my God above me, Will grant this wish I know will be my last.
Don't bury me in Erin's fenian valley, Take me home to Ulster let me rest, And on my gravestone carve a simple message, Here lies a soldier of the UVF.
Here lies a soldier, here lies a soldier, Who fought and died for what he thought was best, Here lies a soldier, here lies a soldier, Here lies a soldier of the UVF.
So gently drape the red hand round my shoulders, Pin no heroes medals on my chest, But if they ask you, will you kindly tell them, Here lies a soldier of the UVF.
Here lies a soldier, here lies a soldier, Who fought and died for what he thought was best, Here lies a soldier, here lies a soldier, Here lies a soldier of the UVF.
This is my story, This is my song It's a long way from Gorgie to the fields o the Somme Where they played tunes of glory, as we marched along The pals o the Sporting battalion
From the Heart of Midlothian to the Waverly train The crowds they were singing an auld Scots refrain Our sweethearts and darlings our bonnie wee bairns Were waving their flags and calling our names
Sing Hearts of Glory, dawn and sunset Hearts of glory, Lest we forget Young Scottish soldiers and soldiers unknown Who gave hearts of glory
In the trenches of Picardy the whistles are blown And it's over the top lads through the wire and the bombs To pain and destruction let the piper play To lead us to hell to death and dismay
There was never a moment I was not afraid But there by my side were the gallant McCrae's Until they fell in the slaughter when the bayonets were out And the few of us left held the auld Scots Redoubt
Ellis and Currie Briggs, Boyd, Hazeldean Wattie and Nisbet He was only sixteen Their names I'll remember at the end of each day They fought and died wi Geordie McCrae
Who cared for the Kaiser or imperial gains Love of our country, duty or fame? Between the whim of an airman and four feathers of shame We fought for the pals of a wee fitba team
And when it was over just what had we done? There were no flags of glory for McCrae and his own There were no graves for heroes for our brothers and sons Who sleep 'neath the flowers in the fields of the Somme
Some came back as cripples some couldnae kick a ball Some wounded and broken most came not at all But they remain in my memory Forever young The pals o the Sporting battalion
Have you ever seen the Orangemen on the Twelth day of July, Have you ever seen the brethren as proudly they march by, Have you heard the masters orders, have you heard the chapmans call, Put on your Orange ragalia for we march right through Harthill.
It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen, Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green, Are all those banners waving to show those Fenians all, That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.
For we number twenty thousand as proudly we march down, Those streets i've walked since childhood, those streets that make me proud, I've walked those streets since childhood and still I will recall, That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.
It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen, Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green, Are all those banners waving to show those Fenians all, That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.
For you've heard of old Dan Winters, Two hundred years ago, Who formed our Orange Order and proudly watched it grow, He said "Come stand by Ulster, Come stand or else you'll fail", You Protestants of Scotland when your marching through Harthill.
It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen, Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green, Are all those banners waving to show those Fenians all, That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.
For you made us take a promise that we will never break, There'll be no Fenian Order, Our hearts they'll never take, Our freedom that was given to us by William proud and tall, And we'll always march in freedom, When we're marchin through Harthill.
It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen, Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green, Are all those banners waving to show those Fenians all, That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.
In a land not far away from here, in a place thats shining bright, Our lovely Queen sits watching, She loves this glorious sight, She even sends us Telegrams to say "God bless you all", You Protestants of Scotland when were marching through Harthill.
It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen, Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green, And all those banners waving to show those Fenians all, That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.
That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.
Just across the Irish Sea, Stirs a heart of Loyalty, Raised in Honour and in dignity, Drives a will to keep us British free, Not alone are we on this journey, For in a land just across the sea, Is a hand that reaches out in friendship, And a bond thats lasted centuries.
And it's hands across the water, Reaching out for you and me, For Queen, For Ulster and For Scotland, Helps to keep our Loyal people free, Let the cry be "No Surrender", Let no-one doubt this Loyalty, Reaching out to the Brave Red Hand of Ulster, Is the hand across the sea.
And it's hands across the water, Reaching out for you and me, For Queen, For Ulster and For Scotland, Helps to keep our Loyal people free, Let the cry be "No Surrender", Let no-one doubt this Loyalty, Reaching out to the Brave Red Hand of Ulster, Is the hand across the sea.
Just across the Irish Sea, Stirs a heart of Loyalty, Raised in Honour and in dignity, Drives a will to keep us British free, Not alone are we on this journey, For in a land just across the sea, Is a hand that reaches out in friendship, And a bond thats lasted centuries.
I've travelled round this world of ours, seen many a different hat, In Spain they wear the Sombrero, In America the baseball cap, But the biggest laugh that i did get was when i went to Rome, There was a man out on a balcony with a half ball on his dome.
Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball to hide his baldy head, They say that he'll still have it on when he's lying dead, I wonder if he'd wear it if he knew when it was whole, That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols into the Celtic goal.
Oh, The soldiers they wear helmets to protect thier heads, And your granny to keep warm wears a nightcap to her bed, In Scotland there's the pipers, Thier Busby's lookin' braw, But you've got to laugh at pope John Paul 'cos he wears half a ball.
Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball to hide his baldy head, They say that he'll still have it on when he's lying dead, I wonder if he'd wear it if he knew when it was whole, That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols into the Celtic goal.
Oh, The pope he came to Glasgow and kneeled down to kiss the ground, A little boy ran up to him and the crowd were struck dumb-found, The little boy then raised his foot and kicked the half a ball, He said "I'm sorry mr pope man, i was trying to score a goal".
Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball to hide his baldy head, They say that he'll still have it on when he's lying dead, I wonder if he'd wear it if he knew when it was whole, That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols into the Celtic goal.
I remember in the papers, It read King Billy was gay, But i wish those lying reporters would report on the present day, They tried to make us Proddy's out to be a laughing stock, When the timss they worship a man in a half ball, Beads and a long white frock.
Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball to hide his baldy head, They say that he'll still have it on when he's lying dead, I wonder if he'd wear it if he knew when it was whole, That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols into the Celtic goal.
I remember in the papers, It read King Billy was gay, But i wish those lying reporters would report on the present day, They tried to make us Proddy's out to be a laughing stock, When the timss they worship a man in a half ball, Beads and a long white frock.
Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball to hide his baldy head, They say that he'll still have it on when he's lying dead, I wonder if he'd wear it if he knew when it was whole, That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols into the Celtic goal.
That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols into the Celtic goal.
That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols into the Celtic goal.
When I was eighteen years of age, In Carson's army I engaged, To fight for Ulster against home rule, A mauser rifle was my tool, On Covenant day my first parade, When over half a million promised aid, We go to fight the enemy now, So we landed fifty thousand guns at Larne, We go to fight the enemy now , So we landed fifty thousand guns at Larne.
That April night I'll never forget, Dispersing guns to face the threat, Throught the length of our beloved land, The die was cast, we made our stand, But another foe was before us now, Home rule was dead beneath the plough, When across to France our divisions sailed, Britain called we would not fail, When across to France our divisions sailed, Britain called we would not fail.
We were Gunrunners, Gunrunners.
So the storys told and its understood, Of a charge that morning, Thiepval Wood, When Ulsters flower their lives did give, So that we at home could in freedom live, Well alas I fell on the Sommes great shore, But not alone there were thousands more, From every street, town and dale, A father, son or brother fell, From every street, town or dale, A father, son or brother fell.
Some folks sing of mountains and valleys Where the wild flowers abundantly grow, And some of the wave-crested billows That dash ''neath the waters below. But I''m going to speak of a river, And I hope in the chorus you''ll join - Of the deeds that were done by King William, On the green grassy slopes of the Boyne.
On the green grassy slopes of the Boyne, Where the Orangemen with William did join, And fought for our glorious deliverance On the green grassy slopes of the Boyne
On the banks of that beautiful river, There the bones of our forefathers lie, Awaiting the sound of the trumpet To call them to glory on high. In our hearts we will cherish their memories, And we all like true brethren will join, And praise God for sending us King William, To the green grassy slopes of the Boyne.
Orangemen will be loyal and steady, For no matter whate''er may betide, We will still mind our war-cry "No Surrender!" So long as we''ve God on our side, And if ever our service is needed, Then we all like true Brethren will join, And fight, like valiant King William, On the green grassy slopes of the Boyne.
And how do ye do young Willie McBride Do ye mind if I sit here down by yer graveside To rest for a while 'neath the warm summer sun I've been walking all day boys am I nearly done I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen When you joined the great fallen back in 1916 Well I hope you died well and I hope you died clean But young Willie McBride was it sad and obscene
Well did they beat the drum slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down? Did the band play the last post or chorus? Or did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
Did ye leave a young wife or a sweetheart behind In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined Although you died back there in 1916 In that faithful heart you're forever nineteen Or are you a stranger without even name Enclosed and forgotten behind a glass frame In an old photograph, torn, battered n stained That's faded to yellow in a brown leather frame
Well did they beat the drum slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down? Did the band play the last post or chorus? Or did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
Well the sun how it shines on those green fields of France And there's a warm summer breeze it makes the red poppies dance But look how the sun shines from under the clouds There's no gas, no barbed wire, there's no gun firing now But here in this graveyard sure its still no mans land Where the countless white crosses lie new in the sand cos for mans blind indifference towards his fellow man Sure a whole generation were butchered and damned
Well did they beat the drum slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down? Did the band play the last post or chorus? Or did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
Well young Willie McBride I can't stop wondering why Do all those who lie here, know why did they die Did they really believe, when they answered the call Did they really believe, that this war would end wars But they saw all the suffering, sure the glory, the pain Sure the killing, and the dying, was all done in vain For young Willie McBride it all happened again, And again And again And again And again.
Well did they beat the drum slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down? Did the band play the last post or chorus? Or did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
God save our gracious Queen Long live our noble Queen, God save the Queen: Send her victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us: God save the Queen.
O Lord, our God, arise, Scatter thine enemies, And make them fall: Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks, On thee our hopes we fix: God save us all.
Thy choicest gifts in store, On her be pleased to pour; Long may she reign: May she defend our laws, And ever give us cause To sing with heart and voice God save the Queen.
In a place called Gibralter, well known as the rock, Three I.R.A scumbags were counting thier stock, When along came some soldiers, they are Britains best, And thier known the whole world over as the proud S.A.S.
And the I.R.A, were blown away, Three corpses were left in Gibralter that day.
Well Dublin she was angry, And so was the Doyle, For the bomb in Gibralter the soldiers did foil, For they planned to murder and leave many for dead, But the brave S.A.S put thier gun to thier head.
And the I.R.A, were blown away, Three corpses were left in Gibralter that day.
That wanker Gerry Adams what a wonderfull sight, Behind an old Tombstone he cowered with fright, The mad yellow provo didn't know what to do, When faced with one Proddy so brave and so true.
And the I.R.A, were blown away, Three corpses were left in old Milltown that day.
This strong loyal Proddy, He's called Micheal Stone, Right in to the graveyard, he went on his own, Five bombs they were thrown and yet only one missed, But you couldn't see the fenians from the steam off thier piss.
And the I.R.A, were blown away, Three corpses were left in old Milltown that day.
Yes the I.R.A, were blown away, Three corpses were left in old Milltown that day
Theres a rusty old steamer on a far distant shore Its sail will sail into Larne harbour once more Her names the CLYDE VALLEY and a proud ship is she For she helped to keep Ulster both loyal and free. The liberals in England in 1914 said Home Rule for Ireland we'll wash our hands clean.
Now Carson spoke firmly, they did all agree That we must be armed to keep Ulster free. What brave men will get them, they rightly got asked Carson he knew just the man for the task. Major Fred Crawford, a brave Ulster son Was sent off to Europe to purchase the guns.
When a ship was required to bring bullets and guns To arm Ulster's men , royal fathers and sons What better than one built in Belfast they said Clyde Valley was really the munjoy instead. She sailed proudly forward her strange roundevous With her master in charge, Bold Captain Agnew
At a spot predetermined on a wide open sea Met HMS Fanny of the Royal Navy The guns were transferred to the Clyde Valley's hold Now that moment in history can proudly be told. She made for Larne harbour with the greatest of speed Knowing her cargo was Ulster's great need.
She knew she was risking both gunshot and shell But God smiled upon her and protected her well And when we look back and recall days of yore We pause to remember Clyde Valley once more And when you sail back to the place you were born Remember Lord Carson and those he did scorn And when you sail back to the place you were born Remember Clyde Valley and those she did scorn.
At the age of sixteen years, well he left his home in tears, His mother watched as he walked out the door, And as his family bade farewell, and his neighbours wished him well, From the road his dad and brother took before.
And as the ship set sail for France, he gave Belfast one more glance, As the ship began to move away from shore, He could see there on the land, the proud YCV flute band, And he could hear them play The Sash My Father Wore.
Oh, from the Shankill Road they went, Oh, thier young lives to be spent, On the first day of July so long Ago, And for the deeds that they have done, And the glories they have won, We remember as long as the bright red poppy's grow.
When they charged fom Thiepval wood, They were in a fighting mood, As they made thier way across the fields of fire, And as they stormed the great redoubt, You could hear those brave men shout, To have them lie beneath the twisted shells and wire
Oh, from the Shankill Road they went, Oh, thier young lives to be spent, On the first day of July so long Ago, And for the deeds that they have done, And the glories they have won, We remember as long as the bright red poppy's grow.
As the ship set sail for France, he gave Belfast one more glance, As the ship began to move away from shore, He could see there on the land, the proud YCV flute band, And he could hear them play The Sash My Father Wore.
And from the Shankill Road they went, Oh, thier young lives to be spent, On the first day of July so long Ago, And for the deeds that they have done, And the glories they have won, We remember as long as the bright red poppy's grow.
Yet from the Shankill Road they went, Oh, thier young lives to be spent, On the first day of July so long Ago, And for the deeds that they have done, And the glories they have won, We remember as long as the bright red poppy's grow.
We remember as long as the bright red poppy's grow.
We remember as long as the bright red poppy's grow.