It hung above the kitchen fire, it's barrel long and brown,
And one day with a boy's desire, I climbed to took it down,
My father's eyes with anger flashed, he said, "What have you done?"
"I wish you'd left it where it was, that's my old Fenian gun."

I fondled it with love and pride, I looked it o'er and o'er,
I placed it on my shoulder and I marched across the floor,
My father's anger softened and he shared my boyish fun,
"Ah, well," said he, "It's in your breed like that old Fenian gun."

"I remember '67 well," he said, "When lads like me,
We thought we'd strike another blow to set old Ireland free,
How foolish were our boyish hopes, we were months upon the run,
But it did good work for Ireland then did that old Fenian gun."

"Twas down then in Kilmallock, twas the hottest fight of all,
And you see he burned his arm there's the mark still of a ball,
I hope the boys that are growing now will keep the ground we've won,
And not disgrace the cause in which I held that Fenian gun.".