There once was a man called Kipling in the age of Iron and Steel
Who wrote some barrack ballards about how young soldiers feel
He wrote about their joys and hopes and about their deepest fear
And he oft time gave us laughter but he also brought us tears.
For he sung about the troopers in far flung forign fields,
And how with diverse cultures the British Empire deals.
He wrote about a man called Din in India`s desperate heat.
He wrote about the highs and lows of victory and defeat.
BUT.
He didnt write about the strife on Englands own dark soil,
Where often times a workers life would end through tiresome toil.
Where the wealth that had been garnered was put into the banks.
While children died hungry outside.No charity to thank.
Throughout his times in Empire climbs he played"The master game
That was learned on Etons fields, that training ground of fame
The Great Game, The Holy Game that kept his world well made
Where rules were rules upon the court where penalties are paid.
Where spying was for gentlemen and villans paid the price.
Where fortitude and courage always made things turn out nice.
He wrote about the Russians and about the Greeks and Turks.
He wrote about the Indian`odd customs and strange querks.
BUT>
He didnt write about the might that crushed the British poor.
That drove them into bondage to maintain the Empire whore
Where the price that was demanded was from the workers backs.
Slaveing 16 hours a day for oppressive Lords and Tax.
His work was taught to all of us when we were boys at school.
Studying the mysteries of British Empire rule.
The example of Arkala, the leader of the pack,
Be prepared for selfsacrifice and guard your brothers back.
So we were trained to follow and to never question why.
To give our all for Empire, to gladly do or die.
We read about a boy called Kim who did these lessons learn.
We read about the Hero brave who did all praises scorn.
BUT.
He didnt write about the fight of starving British folk
Who sacrificed their freedom to cast off oppresive yolk.
Where children could be bought and sold to die down dungion mine.And women were mare property who died befor their time
The fantacy that Kipling spun is now official truth.
That rightly propaganderize the witless mind of youth.
It justifies with golden fleece the horror of the crime,
Perpetuated on mankind by men who sucked on lime.
They thought that they were civilised(these men who did not wash
And they worshiped blood & money ,aspiring to be posh
He wrote about hypocracy that was within them all,
He wrote about the arrogance that did proceed the fall.
I hate republicans and all that they stand for.
They always try to sanctify their crimes against the poor.
Preaching from their pulpits with pious voices nice,
To justify Indemnify their frozen souls of ice.
Dispite proud protistations their actions make it plain,
That they will shirk the urgent work to keep our nation sane
Our cities fall asunder and our families break up
While polititions plunder and with crooks they dain to supp.
Im not a crook quoth Nixonso neither was Agnew.
He had a dog and taped a log,wet plots he liked to brew.
And then there was the Reygun who did not know his name.
Fot he was want to read a prompt to keep him in the game.
And last(at least i hope so) theres George (the veto) Bush
Who stole our cash for Contra trash and kept it all hushhus
The oceans are polluted,that are the font of life.
Our lives have been commuted with a profits shearing knife
Their profits name is Limburg, St Rush to you and me.
Now he`s replaced the fakers face from christian T.V.
He wants to reestablish all the good things from the past.
Like bigotry and slavery and hangings from a mast
He tapps his well of hatred that was capped in days of old
He`d sell his Ma and Jesus,not for silver but for gold.
The sky can now cause cancer so we must duck and hide
From radiation sickness as well as pestacide.
The Democrates cant answer this bleeding diatribe
Because swanks high in the ranks will allways take a bribe
From those who own the money and plan to own much more
Those Dixicrates those well fured cats who make of us a whore
Their laughing in our faces as they live the life of ease
They have the might they have the right to do just as they please.
While our children kill each other, the old are left to die
And the 40 acre daydream has become stale apple pie.
Green, Gold & White.
Im Cymric, Im not free, I fight for liberty,
As did my Father and one day my son.
They tell me I must try to change the system by
The ballot box and not the rebels gun.
To foil us in this cause they bent the rules and laws
To gerrimander us from human rights.
So Stormount represents the landed Lords and gents
Who oppress catholics with a Divine might.
It started with Cromwell(who`s soul now rots in hell)
And then continued through 300 years.
Then Williams Orange hand did dye this emerald land
With blood of inocents that left the world in tears.
Through bloody Black and Tans and iron maiden band
We have buried martyr`s by the hundred score.
They have not died in vain, we know our goal we`ll gain
Though we know we`ll have to bury many more.
In 19 & 15, The boys with their colleans
Arose aganst Impirial invaders.
One sunny Easter Day, they entered into fray
To cast of the tyranny of soldiers.
James Connally had said, before they shot him dead,
And labled all his works as contrabaned.
"The gun must be our court in the last resort of the case of England verses Irland"
And even now, today, the English say no way
Will they submit to outside arbitration.
They never will alow the question who or how
To come before the United Nations.
And so we must contend,untill the bitter end
The flaging fury of the British Lion.
That sits in stern debate and always acts with hate
While boys and girls in green are slowly dying.
Our struggle will prevale throughout green hill and dale
The history of a proud and ancient folk.
We wont submit to rule of Whitehalls Tory tool,
We wont accept oppresive British yolk.
We`ll rise and fight and die and never question why,
As long as English Troopers tred our shore.
We will bury English bods beneath our emerald sod
Untill they know the price they`ll pay for war.
The Green , The Gold , The White
They represent our fight
And fly forever in our memories
We never can give in,
We will fight through thick and thin.
Untill at last one day, Irland is free......................................
