It hung above the kitchen fire, it's barrel long and brown,
And one day with a boy's desire, I climbed and 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 loving pride, I looked it o'er and o'er,
I placed it on my shoulder and I marched across the floor,
My father's anguish softened and he shared my boyish fun,
"Ah, well," says 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,
But broken were our golden hopes, we were months upon the run,
But it did good work for Ireland then did that old Fenian gun."

"I was down then in Kilmallock, twas the hardest fight of all,
And you'll see he burned his arm there's the mark still of the 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 our Fenian gun.".