WEARIN' O' THE GREEN
Traditional
"O Paddy dear, and did ye hear the news that's goin' round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground!
No more Saint Patrick's Day we'll keep, his color can't be seen
For there's a cruel law ag'in the Wearin' o' the Green."
I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand
And he said, "How's poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen
For they're hanging men and women there for the Wearin' o' the Green."
"So if the color we must wear be England's cruel red
Let it remind us of the blood that Irishmen have shed
And pull the shamrock from your hat, and throw it on the sod
But never fear, 'twill take root there, though underfoot 'tis trod.
When laws can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow
And when the leaves in summer-time their color dare not show
Then I will change the color too I wear in my caubeen
But till that day, please God, I'll stick to the Wearin' o' the Green."
1798 Version
I met with Napper Tandy. And he took me by the hand.
Saying: How is poor old Ireland? And what way does she stand?
She’s the most distressful country, That ever yet was seen.
They are hanging men and women, For the wearing of the green.
For the wearing of the green,
My native land, I cannot stand,
For the wearing of the green.
My father loved you tenderly,
He lies within your breast.
While I, that would have died for you,
Must never so be blessed.
For laws, their cruel laws, have said,
That seas should roll between
Old Ireland and her faithful sons,
Who love to wear the green.
For the wearing of the green,
My native land, I cannot stand,
For the wearing of the green.
I care not for the Thistle,
And I care not for the Rose;
When bleak winds round us whistle,
Neither down nor crimson shows.
But like hope to him that’s friendless,
When no joy around is seen.
O’er our grave with love that’s endless,
Blooms our own immortal green.
For the wearing of the green,
My native land, I cannot stand,
For the wearing of the green.
