Song Of The Rebel Irish chords and lyrics
Collected by David Kincaid who also set the song to music, the song itself is from the American civil war [ song ]which saw deaths from just one Irish regiment ''The Irish Brigade'' of 6,000 men. The video is from a film ''Gods And Generals'' , the clip was deleted from the movie before being released. For the version from the movie ‚Gods and Generals’ use capo on 2nd fret
Oh, not (D)now for songs of a (A7)nation's (D)wrongs,
not the groans of starving (A7)la(D)bor;
Let the rifle ring and the (A7)bullet (D)sing
to the clash of the flashing (G)sa(A7)bre!
There are (D)Irish ranks on the (A7)tented (D)banks
of Columbia's guarded (A7)oce(D)an;
And an iron clank from (A7)flank to (D)flank
tells of armed men in (G)mo(A7)tion.
The (D)Irish green shall a(A7)gain be (D)seen
as our Irish fathers (A7)bore (D)it,
A burning wind from the (A7)South be(D)hind,
and the Yankee rout be(G)fore (A7)it!
O'(D)Neil's red hand shall (A7)purge the (D)land-
Rain a fire on men and (A7)catt(D)le,
Till the Lincoln snakes in their (A7)own cold (D)lakes
Plunge from the blaze of (G)batt(A7)le.
Whoe(D)'er shall march by tri(A7)umphal (D)arch
Whoe'er may swell the (A7)slaugh(D)ter,
Our drums shall roll from the (A7)Capi(D)tol
O'er Potomac's fateful (G)wa(A7)ter!
Rise, (D)bleeding ghosts, to the (A7)Lord of (D)Hosts
For judgement final and (A7)sol(D)emn;
Your fanatic horde to the (A7)edge if the (D)
not the groans of starving (A7)la(D)bor;
Let the rifle ring and the (A7)bullet (D)sing
to the clash of the flashing (G)sa(A7)bre!
There are (D)Irish ranks on the (A7)tented (D)banks
of Columbia's guarded (A7)oce(D)an;
And an iron clank from (A7)flank to (D)flank
tells of armed men in (G)mo(A7)tion.
The (D)Irish green shall a(A7)gain be (D)seen
as our Irish fathers (A7)bore (D)it,
A burning wind from the (A7)South be(D)hind,
and the Yankee rout be(G)fore (A7)it!
O'(D)Neil's red hand shall (A7)purge the (D)land-
Rain a fire on men and (A7)catt(D)le,
Till the Lincoln snakes in their (A7)own cold (D)lakes
Plunge from the blaze of (G)batt(A7)le.
Whoe(D)'er shall march by tri(A7)umphal (D)arch
Whoe'er may swell the (A7)slaugh(D)ter,
Our drums shall roll from the (A7)Capi(D)tol
O'er Potomac's fateful (G)wa(A7)ter!
Rise, (D)bleeding ghosts, to the (A7)Lord of (D)Hosts
For judgement final and (A7)sol(D)emn;
Your fanatic horde to the (A7)edge if the (D)