On the fatal gallows tree
Stood the bloody-minded three
Who had done to death the inoffensive Brett:
But the fact that they were hung
Is as worthy to be sung
As their wickedness is worthy to forget.
Chorus.
God save Ireland from the Land League!
God save Ireland from Parnell!
Whether on the gallows high
Or the battle-field they die,
What matter? they are sure to—come to grief.
Men have figured in the dock,
And behind the prison lock,
Who were fitter for the gallows than the cell:
But the hardest thing they've seen
Is the try-your-weight machine
Or a prison suit which doesn't fit them well.
Chorus.
They disgrace their country's name,
And they know no touch of shame;
They promote the crimes they never dared have done;
But failure and disgrace
Now stare them in the face,
Their discreditable course is nearly run.
Chorus.