And that's to hold your knives
And listen to poor Paddy's narration
and in poverty distressed
I'd leave the Irish nation
Here's you boys, do take my advice
To America I'd have you not be comin'
For there's nothin' here but war
Where the murderin' cannons roar
Well, I sold my horse and plough,
And from that farm of land I parted
And my sweetheart Biddy McGee,
oh, I'm sure I'll never see
For I left her on that mornin'
Here's you boys, do take my advice
To America, I'd have you not be comin'
For there's nothing here but war
where the mur derin' cannons roar
Then meself and a hundred more
Our fortunes to be makin'
When we landed in Yankee land
They shoved a gun into our hand
you must go and fight for Lincoln
Here's you boys, you take my advice
To America I'd have you not be comin'
For there's nothin' here but war
Where the martyrin' cannons roar
And I wish I was home in dear old Arran
if you get shot or lose your head,
every mother's son of you will
In the war, I lost my leg,
all life now is a wooden peg.
By my soul, it is the truth to
Here's you boys, who take my advice,
To America I'd have you not be coming,
For there's nothing here but war,
Where the marjoram cannons roar,
Now I think myself in luck
In Aldia land, the country I delight in
And with the devil I do say,
For I'm sure I've had enough
Here's you boys, do take my advice
To America I'd have you not be comin'
For there's nothin' here but war
Where the marjoram cannon wheels roar
And I wish I was a Tom Lindy Rodin
