The[C] gray clouds over [F]Milltown are calling soft to [C]me
The[D] smoke from burning[Em] fires brings[Am] bitter memor[G7]ies
The people and the[C] traffic they[Am] quickly hurry[G7] by
All[Am] through the streets of[F] Belfast where young Patricia[C] died.
 
Patricia as a girl was Belfast born and raised
And often in the stories she'd heard our heroes praised
But no thoughts of death or conflict did torment her youthful brain
'Til England sent  it's monsters to help supoirt it's reign.
 
Do you remember, Patricia, in the Springtime of your years
The hatreds and the bigotry that filled our hearts with fears?
We only asked for equal rights, but that was soon denied
All on the streets of Belfast where you bravely fought and died.
 
Then came the year of sixty-nine and our homes they were ablaze
Down from their haunts on Shankhill the Orange butchers came
But you'd read of Tone and Connolly, Fidel and valiant Che
And to defend your people you joined the IRA.
 
You were a Sticky Volunteer, your young heart knew no dread
You stood up for the Starry Plough and the Workers' flag of red
The British sent their soldiers in, they said to keep the peace
But on the streets of Belfast their terror was unleashed.
 
Then came that dark September day when the British huns came on
They thought they could subdue us with the baton and the gun
But the Stickies and the Provos, they made their stand that day
All on the streets of Belfast to counter Britain's sway.
 
You fought them, lovely Patricia, all through that Autumn day
We could hear the rifles firing and the Thompson's deadly spray
But a bullet found your proud young heart from the rifles of the foe
And on the streets of Belfast they laid Patricia low.
 
But that was long ago, my girl, and some things are better now
Because of all your sacrifice our heads we will not bow
But the cruel flag of England, up in the somber sky,
Still flies o'er the streets of Belfast where you bravely fought and died.