Good evening, all. Just came home from my St. Patrick's Day celebration. I avoid the actual day itself - too much craziness for my old ass - and was fortunate enough to catch a fantastic local band, The Diggers, at an AmVets hall near my house.
I love Irish music. I remember one night when some friends from Italy were in town, and we were watching the Diggers at another Irish hall. We were hammered, laughing, and having an absolute blast. One asked me, "so what is Irish music about?" I grabbed an elder and said "my Italian friends want to know what Irish music is about." He smiled at them, and in a voice ripe with Guiness and Tullamore Dew whiskey said "Irish music is about five things: Freedom, Drinking, Fighting, Fucking, and Dying." We all raised our glasses, drank, and banged our shot glasses on the table, beating time to "Celtic Symphony."
In honor of the day, I'm including lyrics to two of my favorite Irish songs, James Connolly, and Come Out Ye Black and Tans (a reference to the British paramilitaries in Ireland, a precurser to Hitler's Brownshirts):
James Connolly:
Where oh where is our James Connolly,
Where oh where can that brave man be,
He has gone to organise the Union,
That working men might yet be free.
Where oh where is the citizen army,
Where oh where can that brave band be,
They have gone to join the great rebellion,
And break the bonds of slavery.
And who will be there to lead the van,
Who will there be to lead the van,
Oh who should there be but our James Connolly,
The hero of each working man.
Who carries high our burning flag,
Who carries high our burning flag,
Oh who but James Connolly all pale and wounded,
Carries high our burning flag.
They carried him up to the jail,
They carried him up to the jail,
And ‘twas there that they shot him one bright May morning,
And quickly laid him in his grave.
Who mourns now for our James Connolly,
Who mourns now for that fighting man,
Oh lay me down in yon green garden,
And make my bearers Union men.
We laid him down in yon green garden,
With Union men on every side,
And we swore that we’d make one mighty Union,
And fill that gallant man with pride.
So come all you noble young Irishmen,
Come join with me for liberty,
And we will forge a mighty weapon,
And break the bonds of Slavery.
Come Out Ye Black and Tans:
I was born on a Dublin street where the Royal drums did beat
And the loving English feet they walked all over us
And each and every night when me da' would come home tight
He'd invite the neighbors outside with this chorus
Come out you black and tans, come out and fight me like a man
Show your wife how you won medals down in Flanders
Tell her how the IRA made you run like hell away
From the green and lovely lanes of Killashandra
Come let me hear you tell how you slammed the great Parnell
When you fought them well and truly persecuted
Where are the smears and jeers that you bravely let us hear
When our heros of sixteen were executed
Come tell us how you slew those brave arabs two by two
Like the Zulus they had spears and bows and arrows
How you bravely slew each one with your sixteen pounder gun
And you frightened them poor natives to their marrow
The day is coming fast and the time is here at last
When each yoeman will be cast aside before us
And if there be a need sure my kids will sing God speed
With a verse of two of Steven Beehan's chorus
Happy St. Patrick's Day to all. Today, let's remember those who fight for freedom and liberty, in their country and in their workplace.