Tommy Dear Sinn Fein

I love my Tommy dearly and he merits my esteem,

He is ever in the struggle, his lost country to redeem,

The Shaugraun of the enemy, he baffles with a smile,

As he sings the plaintive anthem of his own dear native isle,

In the camps of Mars and Venus he is qualified to be,

With arms strong and manly as the branches of a tree,

The sacrilegious instruments proposing to profane,

Would rather run than stand before my Tommy Dear Sinn Fein.

Where will I find Parnassus, tell me truly men of words,

Or if the muses of the mount gave music to the birds,

Or if the God of goddesses existence of today,

Would hear my lamentations and sing my lovesick lay,

Will it cut communications between honest men and thieves,

And keep those dying fanatics from sliding up our sleeves,

Will it quench the fire of secrecy that wicked words contain,

And give the golden apple up to Tommy Dear Sinn Fein.

Now Tommy said he’d marry me when Ireland would be free,

With the bag of restitution resting heavy on his knee,

The cancers of his country no longer will prevail,

We’ll substitute Miss Freedom in the stead of Granuaile,

Warfare is the glory of my darling, Tommy Dear,

Experience tells the story of the swiftness of career,

Should accident befall him, should he number with the slain,

I’ll take my final sleep along with Tommy Dear Sinn Fein.