Immigrant's Sons
We drink, we fight, we do our best when we get tightWe drink, we fight, if you drove us wild
Why don’t you slip away and your lives will be sparedIf you stand in way of immigrant’s sons we’ll put you into hell
Daddy died of hunger when the famine’s broken outMother took me and me brother, we left our lovely townA long and weary journey across the stormy seaWe landed at the Boston bay and moved inMom became a washerwoman for a rich man’s houseBrother and me carried coal in the local mineIrish people stick together, we met them for a pintWe played a jigg and danced together all night
We’re proud ’cause our Irish gang is the toughest out of allWatch your step in our district ’cause we stick you to the wallNo problem for us to beat you, we go to see the priestIn God’s name he can absolve us from our sinsMarch 17 and we all meet at MacNamara’s placeCelebrating Éire and St. Patrick’s DayThe fiddle plays some good old songs that came over the seaWe keep the way our traditions must be