调:D major
Verse 1
G
D
G
D
A
His life for his country about to lay down
like a true son of Ireland
G
D
A
The firing party, a privileged face
grease and darts, fire
G
D
G
And James Connolly
in Dublin that morning
When they murdered James Connolly,
God's poor son, you England,
D
G
D
Your deeds, they were shame
but the shamrock is blowin'
On the grave of James Connolly,
A
D
A
they loudly did speak
they stood shoulder to shoulder
And the blood from their bodies
The four hordes of Dublin,
the English bombarded.
The spirit of freedom
was the voice of James Connolly,
A
the Irishman.
D
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