Far [Em]far from Clifden's [D]rocky shore
O'er the [Am]broad Atlantic [Em]sea
The Ba[G]ttalion of St. [Am]Patrick
Tired of [B7]harsh brutali[Em]ty
No [G]more abuse or [D]bigotry,
Their [Am]angry cry whole[Em]hearted
Near [G]Matamoras
[Am]lives were lost
That's [B7]when the fighting [Em]started
Chorus
Who [G]were those men, what [D]was the crime
For [Am]which their lives were [Em]wasted
Did they [G]rob
or rape, or [Am]was their fate
As the [B7]poet once re[Em]lated
Were [G]those great Gaels of Ireland
The [Am]men
that God made [D]mad
Their [Em]wars were never [Am]merry
And/But [B7]all their songs were [Em]sad
Land [Em]of the Free meant [D]liberty
To the [Am]U.S. Army's [Em]Irish
Till [G]James K. Polk he [Am]sent them
south
To [B7]civilize the [Em]Spanish
In a [G]war to extend [D]slavery
And [Am]unjust exploit[Em]tation
They'd
[G]not repeat what [Am]Cromwell did
To [B7]their poor Irish [Em]Nation
Chorus
At [Em]L'Angustura, [D]Irish blood
[Am]Drenched the sun-baked [Em]clay
And [G]Mexico still [Am]honours
Those
brave [B7]men who died that [Em]day
[G]But the worst was [D]yet to come
In the [Am]hour that war was [Em]ended
When
[G]General Scott hung the [Am]Irishmen
To [B7]celebrate with [Em]vengeance
Chorus
