(The Boys Of The Old Brigade)
[Bridge]
I, I, IRA,
The I, the I, the IRA.

[Verse]
"Oh, father, why are you so sad, on this bright Easter morn?
When Irish men are proud and glad of the land where they were born",
"Oh, son, I see in memory's view of far off distant days,
When being just a lad like you I joined the IRA."

[Chorus]
Where are those lads who stood with me,
When history was made?
Oh, grá mo chroí, I long to see,
The boys of the Old Brigade.

[Verse]
"From hill and farms, the call to arms was heard by one and all,
From the glen came brave young men to answer Ireland's call,
It was long ago, we faced the foe, the Old Brigade and me,
By my side they fought and died that Ireland will be free."

[Chorus]
Where are the lads who stood with me,
History was made?
Oh, grá mo chroí, I long to see,
The boys of the Old Brigade.

[Bridge]
The I, the I, the IRA,
The I, the I, the IRA.

(You Are My Larsson)
You are my Larsson, my Henrik Larsson,
You make me happy when skies are grey,
Alan Shearer, well he's a wanker,
Please don't take my Larsson away.

You are my Larsson, my Henrik Larsson,
You make me happy when skies are grey,
We went for Shearer but he's a wanker,
Please don't take my Larsson away.

(We Shall Not Be Moved)
Because we shall not, we shall not be moved,
We shall not, we shall not be moved.
Not by the Hearts, the Hibs, fuck the Rangers,
We shall not be moved.

Oh, we shall not, we shall not be moved,
We shall not, we shall not be moved.
Not by the Hearts, the Hibs, fuck the Rangers,
We shall not be moved.

(The Boys Of The Old Brigade)
[Verse]
"Oh, now, my son, I've told you why on Easter morn I sigh,
And I recall my comrades all, from dark old days gone by,
Well I think of men who fought in glens with rifle and hand grenade,
May heaven keep the lads who sleep from the ranks of the Old Brigade."

[Chorus]
Where are the lads who stood with me,
When history was made?
Oh, grá mo chroí, won't you to see,
The boys of the Old Brigade.

(Seán South Of Garryowen)
The I, the I, the IRA.

Well it was on a dreary New Year's Eve as the shades of night came down,
A lorry load of volunteers approached the border town,
There were men from Dublin and from Cork, Fermanagh and Tyrone, (You on your own!)
But the leader was a Limerick man, was South from Garryowen.

And as they moved along the street up to the barrack door,
They scorned the danger they might meet, their fate that lay in store,
They were fighting for old Ireland, to claim their very own,
And the foremost of that gallant band was South from Garryowen.

But the sergeant he spurned their daring plan, he spied them through the door,
The sten guns and the rifles fired, a hail of death did pour,
And when that awful night was o'er, two men lay as cold as stone,
There was one from County Monaghan and one from Garryowen.

The I, the I, the IRA.

No more he will hear the seagull's cry, o'er the murmuring Shannon tide,
For he fell beneath a northern sky, brave O'Hanlon was by his side,
They have gone to join that gallant band of Plunkett, Pearse and Tone, (Wolfe Tone!)
Another martyr for old Ireland, was South from Garryowen,
Another martyr for old Ireland, Seán South from Garryowen.