James Larkin

THE BALLAD OF JAMES LARKIN
(Donagh MacDonagh)
 
In Dublin City in 1913 the boss was rich and the poor were slaves
The women working, the children starving, then on came Larkin like a mighty wave
The workmen cringed when the boss man thundered, seventy hours was his weekly chore
He asked for little and less was granted, lest gettin' little, then he'd ask for more
 
But on came Larkin in 1913, a mighty man with a mighty tongue
The voice of labor, the voice of justice, and he was gifted and he was young
God sent Larkin in 1913, a labor man with a union tongue
He raised the workers and gave them courage; he was their hero, the worker's son
 
It was in August the boss man told us, no union man for him could work
We stood by Larkin and told the boss man, we'd fight or die, but we would not shirk
Eight months we fought and eight months we starved; we stood by Larkin through thick and thin
But food less homes and the crying of children, they broke our hearts, we could not win
 
When Larkin left us we seemed defeated. The night was black for the working man,
But on came Connolly with hope and counsel. His motto was that we'd rise again
In 1916 in Dublin city, the English soldiers they burnt our town
They shelled the buildings, and shot our leaders; the harp was buried beneath the crown
 
They shot McDermott and Pearse and Plunkett; they shot McDonagh and Clarke the brave.
From bleak Kilmainham the took their bodies to Arbour Hill to a quicklime game
But last of all of the seven leaders I sing the praise of James Connolly
The voice of labor, the voice of justice, he gave his life that men might be free