UP THE BORDER 4/4 (Wolfe Tones)
VERSION 1 (From ‚The Troubles’ à Use
capo on 3rd fret)
Oh, then (D)Basil (A7)Brugha’s me (D)name, with me (G)orange sash I (D)came
For to beat me drum on the (Bm)twelfth day of ju(Em)ly(A7)
And the (D)English (A7)queen and (D)crown I’ll (G)never let them (D)down
‚Up the Border, keep the (A7)border!’, is me (D)cry.
Oh, then Basil you’re the man to ??? orange ???
For you’ll never talk to papish, fenian types.
And with Orangemen you’re seen- we don’t like the colour green
Up the Border, keep the border!’, is me cry.
‚Oh, then Basil be a dear,’ said the wife to me one year
‚To paper up the kitchen you must try.’
So I got some sticky glue, put up red, white and blue
‚Up the Border, keep the border!’, is me cry.
Oh, then Basil, you’re the man, keep our land a ??? land
And drive the fenians far across the sea
For ? they’ll get none, all those croppies will lie down
‚Up the Border, keep the border!’, is me cry.
Now I have some empty bags, I’ll fill them up with fags
I’ll buy them down in Dublin on the ???
And the customs men I’ll hook, for me name is Basil Brugha.
‚Up the Border, keep the border!’, is me cry.
‚Up the Border, keep the border!’, is me cry.
VERSION 2
Oh, then (D)Basil (A7)Brugha’s me (D)name, with me (G)orange sash I (D)came
For to beat me drum on the (Bm)twelfth day of ju(Em)ly(A7)
And the (D)English (A7)queen and (D)crown I’ll (G)never let them (D)down
‚Up the Border, keep the (A7)border!’, is me (D)cry.
Now beyond in USA you’ll no longer hear them say
For president no papish need apply
For in Belafst there is no hope for a man they call the Pope
‚Up the Border, keep the border!’, is me cry.
Though were’re born in Ireland we must try to understand
That we all like to be English when we die.
Even heaven would be dull i fit hadn’t got John Bull
‚Up the Border, keep the border!’, is me cry.
‚Oh, then Basil be a dear,’ said the wife to me one year
‚To paper up the kitchen you must try.’
So I got some sticky glue, put up red, white and blue
‚Up the Border, keep the border!’, is me cry.
Now I have some empty bags and I’ll fill them up with fags
I’ll buy them down in Dublin on the sly
And the customs men I’ll hook, for me name is Basil Brugha.
‚Up the Border, keep the border!’, is me cry.
If Sinn Fein give me their spell sure Belfast can go to hell
And the border will be blown up to the sky.
