"Oh, Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground,
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep, his colours can't be seen,
For there's a bloody law against the wearing of the green."

I met with Napper Tandy and he took me by the hand,
He said, "How's poor old Ireland and how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country that ever yet would seem,
They're hanging men and women for the wearing of the green."

Then since the colour we must wear is England's cruel red,
Sure, Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed,
You ay take the shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,
But twill take root and flourish there though underfoot it's trod.

When law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,
And when the leaves in summertime their faces dare not show,
Then I will change the colour that I wear in my caubeen,
But till that day, please God, I'll stick to the wearing of the green.