The Men of No Property - “This Is Free Belfast!”
1971 - PAREDON P 1006 LP

Sleeve Notes

Side 1, Band 1:
CRY MURDER!
Words: Wlyd
Sung by: McHenry
Accompaniment: Whistle, Guitar

DEDICATION: To the memory of PATRICK ROONEY' aged nine, killed by a stray bullet, Divis Street, Belfast, during the fighting on the night of 14th August, 1969.
On that night, Northern Ireland's 90% Protestant police force, the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC), rioted throughout the Catholic ghettoes of Belfast. They savagely attacked innocent people and drove through the streets indiscriminately firing their weapons. One result of this demonstration of the RUC's fascist and racist interpretation of law and order was the murder of little Patrick Rooney while he lay in his bed.
One wonders if Patrick's father could view his little boy's body with part of his head blown off, the room awash with Patrick's blood, and then dismiss this horror from his mind with a "manly" shrug of his shoulders and the utterance of some bromide such as “War is hell!”
One wonders how Irish-Americans would react if somehow the policeman who murdered Patrick was convicted, but later freed and made a hero of by the Prime Minister or the Premier.

The street lamp light is fading now,
The sun begins to rise,
Armoured police, like beetles creep,
As factory whistles blow,
Workers scurry to the mills, another day begun,
In Belfast, August, '69, 'midst the terror
Of the gun.

Rows of red-bricked houses, soulless,
Charred and burnt,
Stand face to face and back to back,
There's no lace curtains now
An echo from the distant past,
Impervious to pain,
Cement and bricks and human skull
Will raise them up again.

From my flat above the streets I stare,
I curse my new found home,
No human skill will raise my love,
To bloom into a man,

Shot by cowards in his bed
At the tender age of nine,
CRY MURDER! my child Patrick's dead
In Belfast '69.

---

Side 1, Band 2:
WHY ARE THE BRITISH TROOPS HERE?

Why are the British troops here? To police the "new solutions" for the more efficient exploitation of Catholic and Protestant workers in Ireland. We are opposed to British Troops, not particularly because they are British, but because they have come as the policemen for a society run by the British, German and American industrialists, a society in which Protestants and Catholics will be expected to work quietly together for minimal wages, in modern factories, which will amass for their foreign shareholders profits far greater than those ever extracted from Ireland before...

If the battle cries of the coming months are to be "I hate the Prods," "I hate the British" and "I hate the Catholics," and if those who fight have no wider understanding of what they are involved in, the workers of Belfast -- Protestant and
Catholic - face a tragic blood bath, while their masters, the Unionist ruling class, and the foreign industrialists, face, by contrast, a temporary inconvenience, followed by decades of supremacy over an impoverished and confused pool of cheap labour...

That is why it's not enough to say "Fight British troops." Some in the IRA may well claim that to do so is to fight the true fight against British Imperialism. But remember this: for every family happy to sleep under the tricolor, there is another living without a decent roof over its' head in the Fianna Fail puppet state of the South... In 1916, Connolly fought in an alliance with middle-class nationalists; he did not live to see the southern workers betrayed by the Sinn Fein. He fought in circumstances far more favorable than those in the North today. It would be a tragedy indeed, for the North, if the best and most militant of its Socialists were to meet their fate fighting behind barricades in Catholic areas, faced by the British Army and most Protestant workers, simply because they had failed to understand the real requirements for a Revolutionary movement in the North until it was too late. Every time an Anti-Imperialist movement has developed in the North, the forces of Imperialism have relied on sectarianism to divide the working class to defeat revolt. Why hand them the weapons of victory yet again? When working class people march because they have no jobs, when tenants in slums go on rent strike, when workers demand fair wages, or control of their factories, when fisherman seize their fisheries from foreign business interests, when small farmers rise up against the great landowners, then the British Army will intervene as always, but then we will be fighting the true struggle against Imperialism in Ireland.

We must fight the British troops on our own ground, when they are actively defending British economic interests in Ireland, and not when they are merely standing between warring sections of the Irish working class.

Excerpts from "Soldiers of the Empire" by John Gray, read by an Irish rebel.

---

Side 1, Band 3:
BURNTOLLET BRIDGE AMBUSH
Words: Wyld
Air: “Boys of Sandy Row”
Sung by: Wyld
Accompaniment: Accordion, guitar, percussion

This ballad commemorates an incident in which police and civilian enemies of the civil rights movement conspired to attack a peaceful demonstration at Burntollet Bridge during a march from Belfast to Londonderry.

"A horde of people appeared, armed with iron bars, clubs, and bottles. Many were wearing white armbands and helmets. Six men with clubs jumped out from the right and began, indiscriminately, to club people round me... I was struck four times on the head and several times on the shoulders...”
"Standing on the side of the bridge... was a large, middle-aged, well-dressed man...he whipped what seemed like a police baton out of his overcoat pocket and smashed it on the back of the nearest marcher. Boys and girls went down, one after another.”
Extract from "Unholy Smoke" by G.W. Target.

Come all who fight for liberty,
And hear me tell my tale,
Think on the first January,
In dear old Granuaille,
Resolved to march to Derry
We left old Belfast town,
Burntollet we'll remember
Where they tried to club us down.

The gentry organized thugs
To halt the march at Antrim,
Advised by Major Bunting,
The Orange poet pilgrim,
As darkness fell more hostile groups
Came from the county manse,
With black thorn sticks and cudgels,
Honi soit qui' mai y pense.

We slept that night at Whitehall,
Wakened by a bomb scare,
The second day of January
To Toome we did repair,
But Randalstown proved difficult,
Harrassed along the way,
Chichester Clarke and Robin
Came out to see fair play.

BUT FREEDOM SHINES BEFORE US LADS
WE'LL SEEK IT DAY BY DAY,
AND IF WE STRIVE AND PERSEVERE;
SHE'LL MEET US HALF THE WAY.

We were cheered on at Galladuff
And heard with great dismay,
That Orangemen at Maghera
Had cudgels on display,
T'was council given by the cops,
Those men of great renown,
So in Brackaghreilly Hall
That night we slept, outside the town.

The bleak Glenshane we crossed o'er,
Farrell took command,
Dungiven town was cordoned off,
The police bid us to stand,
We formed in ranks with arms linked,
The cordon broke in twain,
To Feeney marched victorious,
Our ranks we did maintain.

We slept that night at Claudy,
Sixty miles from Belfast,
Abused and harrassed every mile,
We suffered for our protest,
Non-violence our slogan,
One family, one house,
One man, one job, one man, one vote,
Repeal repressive laws.

THEN COURAGE BOYS, THE DAY WILL COME,
TO SOOTHE OUR TOIL AND PAIN,
WE'LL LIFT NO HAND OR WEAPON,
THEIR ANGER TO INFLAME.

January Fourth, Paisley, Paisley was the cry,
Burntollet we had reached.
Bricks and bottles from the sky,
Get the bastards, fenian whores,
Club the students down,
Make sure their skulls are cracked
Before they reach Derry town.

With long spiked clubs beat their legs,
Throw them in the river,
Drag them over broken glass,
For Paisley, our deliverer.
Save the police, help them run,
Get them to their tenders,
Iron bars, clubs and bottles;
Christ, they won't defend us.

Spencer Road in Derry,
We've made it with our blood,
More bricks and bottles, from the crown,
Came from the friends of God,
Over the Craigavon Bridge
And into Guildhall Square,
The downfall of the police
Began in Derry's city fair.

SO JOIN WITH HEAD,
WITH HEART AND HAND
AND DRIVE DESPAIR AWAY,
BETTER TIMES ARE COMING FRIENDS,
WE'LL MARCH AND WIN THE DAY.

---

Side 1, Band 4:
IT'S A MAN'S LIFE IN THE ARMY
Words: Wyld
Air: “Rocks of Baun”
Sung by: Wyld
Accompaniment: Guitar

When I was five my mother died,
At twelve I left my home,
At eighteen years I took the shilling,
My career had begun,
For fifteen years I've slogged on foot,
A soldier of the crown
Now I curse the unemployment
Made me leave old Belfast town.

As a soldier of foot brigade,
I've been to foreign parts,
I've seen the sun rise in the East,
Broke many a girlie's heart,
I've left them in the streets to mourn,
While I marched off to play,
My part in keeping riots down
At two pounds ten a day.

I'd a mate was killed in Germany in 1965,
It's a man's life in the Army
For those that stay alive,
He was crushed below a lorry
As he staggered down the street,
Cheap drink was never mentioned
On the Army report sheet.

They've used me as a blackleg
When the dockers go on strike,
Sometimes I think desertion
Should be a squaddies right,
The sergeant says it's Bolshie now,
To dream of civvy life,
So they've sent me back to Belfast town,
To teach me wrong from right.

It's right to be a soldier in the military role,
But it's wrong to be a civvy cause you
Might be on the dole,
And it's right to earn your living
As a soldier of the crown,
To be unemployed since leaving school
Is wrong in Belfast town.

So I think of the Queen of England,
And I'm glad thet I'm employed,
Pumping CS gas at children,
Till their parents get annoyed,
I'm glad I joined the Army now,
To teach me wrong from right,
To hell with your unemployment now,
Like me you'll have to fight.

---

Side 1, Band 5:
CRAIG'S DRAGOONS
Words: Wyld
Air: “Dolly's Brae”
Sung by: Lavery
Accompaniment: Guitar, whistle, mandolin.

Come all you Ulster Protestants
And in full chorus join,
Think on the deed's of Craig's Dragoons,
Who struck below the groin,
And drink a toast to the truncheon
And the armoured water hose,
That mowed a path through civil rights
And spat on papish! clothes.

We've gerrymandered Derry,
But Croppy won't lie down,
He calls himself a citizen
And wants votes in the town,
But that Saturday in Duke Street,
We slipped the velvet glove,
The iron hands of Craig's Dragoons
Soon crunched a Croppy dove.

MacAteer and Curry, Gerry Fitt and others too,
Were fool enough to lead the van
Expecting to get through,
But our hero commandos, let loose at last to play,
Did annihilate the rights of man
In the noon time of the day.

They downed women and children
For Teagues all overbreed,
They used the baton on men's heads,
For Craig would pay no heed,
And then the boys placed in plain clothes,
They lent a loyal hand,
To massacre those Derry boys
Behind the Crossley van.

Oh, William Craig, you are our love,
Our lily and our sash,
You have the boys who fear no noise,
Who'll batter and who'll bash,
They'll cordon and they'll baton charge,
They'll silence protest tunes,
They are the hounds of Ulster boys,
Sweet William Craig's Dragoons.

---

Side 1, Band 6:
HUGHES' BAKERY VAN
Monologue written and performed by McIlvogue, with drum and flute.

In recognition of its outstanding service in defense of the Catholics of the Falls Road, Hughes Bakery Van takes a place of honor next to Johnson's motor car as one of the principle vehicles of Irish freedom.
However, intelligence reports comina into the Falls indicate that the Scotch-Irish of the Shankill Road Department of Defense are developing something they call Annie's Lorry. If Annie's Lorry is as good as it's cracked up to be, its encounter with Hughes' Bakery Van should make the great battle between the Monitor and the Merrimac look like a pillow fight in comparison.

I remember the time not too long in the past,
When it was easier to get a gun than a drink in Belfast,
When the B-Specials came and the people all ran,
Sure my life it was saved by the oul' bakery van.

CHORUS
IT WAS HUGHES
AYE BARNEY HUGHES
AH! GOD REST BARNEY HUGHES
AND HJS OUL' BAKERY VAN.

The day it was passing down by Dover Street,
When the victory of Bogside was turned bitter sweet,
They came from the Shankill and fired as they ran,
But the bullets just bounced off my oul' bakery van.

CHORUS

Our armoured division it was led by McKee,
In charge of an oul' bakery van and an oul' J.C.B.
But if Rommel had seen him he'd have turned up and smiled,
Firing baps by the dozen, cement by the pile.

CHORUS

Then mounted machine guns on turret cars came,
Bullets three inches long whistled down like the rain,
And the oul' bakery van it was pierced front and back,
But the baps in the van, they repelled the attack.

CHORUS

You'll hear variations and most of them lies,
The people of the Falls Road were took by surprise,
So we fired Hughes' baps and we fired Hughes' rolls,
And we buried those Specials all down the manholes.

CHORUS

Come all of you women take warning by me,
Don't go buying your pan loaf or Hovis so free,
But stand on the corner and wait on the man,
He'll be around sure as God in his oul' bakery van.

CHORUS

---

Side 1, Band 7:
BALLAD OF DANNY O'HAGAN
Words: McIlvogue
Air: “Jamie Foyers”
Sung by: McIlvogue

Danny O'Hagan, a nineteen-year old apprentice electrician, was cold-bloodedly shot to death at twenty yards by British soldiers under the command of General lan Freeland, while standing on a Belfast street corner. In the report, the British claim O'Hagan was throwing a petrol bomb: the people who were with him said he was unarmed. O'Hagan's death was followed by a march of tribute by 5,000 people, and six days of rioting with increased use of petrol bombs. As Liam McMillan, a Republican leader of the North, said, "The history of Ireland shows that the more repression that is used against the Irish people, the more they will resist it."

Cry murder, cry murder, for that's all it was,
They shot young O'Hagan without any cause,
He walked to the corner,
Searching for his young friend,
When a gunman in khaki, his young life did end.

He was only nineteen, and completely unarmed,
As down by the New Lodge,
The British troops stormed,
Pick targets, aim, fire, the officer said.
They fired from point blank range,
O'Hagan fell dead.

We threw bricks and threw bottles,
But what was the use,
They used more bloody gas
Than used on the Jews,
But we fought on regardless,
Every man to the last,
For we saw them do murder
That night in Belfast.

Bad luck to you Freeland,
You gave the command,
It's you that we blame,
Putting guns in their hands,
You bowed to the pressure of
Stormont's right wing,
But revenge on your Empire,
One day we will bring.

---

Side 1, Band 8:
THE BOGSIDE DOODLE BUG
Words: McIlvogue
Sung by: McIlvogue, with group
Accompaniment: Guitar

They came down the Bann in war ships,
Sailing out from Belfast town,
The R.U.C. and Specials,to put the riots down,
They flattened out like lemons,
And the ground they had to hug,
When there came a loud explosion
From the Bogside Doodle Bug.

CHORUS:
RUN BACK, RUN BACK,
WE'RE UNDER FIERCE ATTACK,
HOIST THE WHITE FLAG WILLIAM,
THE SERGEANT SADLY CRIED,
IT WAS THE BOGSIDE DOODLE BUG,
THE POOR MAN HE HAD SPIED.

Now this missile of the people
Was invented by a man,
Unemployed for fourteen years
When his good work he began,
Says he, it's no use begging
And for work we'll have to fight,
So I'll invent a weapon that will
Make the peelers sh-i-

CHORUS:

Now the doodle bug's a weapon
Quite easy for to make,
Just get yourself some petrol
And soap powder and some paint,
It's the pride of the bogside warrior,
The fear of the men in blue,
For when it hits the armoured car,
It sticks to the side like glue.

CHORUS:

Now the peelers used their batons
And the Specials used their guns,
They came roaring through the Bogside
Like the bloody German Huns,
They all ran back like cowards,
For they knew what lay in fate,
When the music of the Doodle Bug
Was heard at Butcher's Gate.

CHORUS:

Now to conclude this truthful story,
Look up to the sky at night,
You'll see an object passing by,
Going at the speed of light,
It's not a Lunar Module or Aladdin's magic rug,
It's the discrimination wiper-out,
The Bogside Doodle Bug.

---

Side 1, Band 9:
THE BALLAD OF CARRICK HILL
Words: McIlvogue
Air: “Take it Down From the Mast”
Sung by: Lavery
Accompaniment: Drums, whistle, mandolin

Up in Tennant Street, the Orangemen assembled,
Their drums made a terrible din,
They came down Peter's Hill in their thousands.
Determined to cross Carrick Hill.

Annie Largy was the first one to see them,
On her bugle she gave a loud blast,
From the houses the people came tumbling.
Swearing that no Orangemen would get past.

Father Bradley ran out of St. Patrick's,
Gave three chimes on the old chapel bell,
And the wine victims of Milfield assembled,
Swearing to give all the Orangemen hell.

Josie Meekin that herofought so bravely,
He's a man we never can thank,
He came out of the scrapyard like Rommel,
Firing shells from an old German tank.

But at last poor Buxie Drummond was Surrounded,
outnumbered by forty to one,
His hatchet with blood was all blunted,
And the ammunition was done.

But then down from Turf Lodge Reservation,
Sure the Carrick Hill Arabs did come,
Bogie Bradley was there with his father,
And both of them carried a gun.

Tommy Murray he saddled his old piebald,
Diddler McCann sure he stole a van,
And^Punter O'Donnel came on horseback,
And the rest of the troops they just ran.

The dawn it was breaking on Belfast,
Carrick Hill was all covered in red,
Lenny Deighon was hiring out handcarts,
For the Orangemen to take home their dead.

---

Side 2, Band 1:
LEAVING BELFAST TOWN
Words: McIlvogue
Air: “The Hero”
Sung by: Wyld
Accompaniment: Guitar, dulcimer

I have lived me life in Belfast town
And oft times I've asked why,
That evil men and orders
Were allowed to bleed us dry.
Born in a dirty tenement,
In a district falling down,
And I tell you John I've often longed
To leave ould Belfast town.

Belfast's a northern city
Where decent men are few,
Where drums and flags have hid the eyes
Of working men it's true,
Where democracy means hypocrisy,
And corruption does abound,
And I tell you John I've often longed
To leave ould Belfast town.

Ah, well now, John, you've been and gone,
All round this world to see,
And have you found a country
Where a poor man might be free,
Where there are no greedy landlords,
Or forces of the crown,
Oh! Tell me John, and I'll be gone,
Far from ould Belfast town.

They have filled the minds with poison,
And I fear it is too late,
To wash those walls of hatred
And the words that speak of hate,
All freedom has been banished
And honest men put down,
And I tell you John, I've oft times longed
To leave ould Belfast town.

There's barricades and burning now,
And gunmen walk the street,
There's CS gas from England
That the hungry kids can eat,
Our town's an old sandcastle
And the waves begin to pound,
And I tell you John, I've often longed
To leave ould Belfast town.

---

Side 2, Band 2:
THE GREAT EEL ROBBERY
Words: Brown
Air: “Star of the County Down”
Sung by: Wyld
Accompaniment: Harmonica

Northern Ireland's great Lough Neagh is the richest fishing ground of Western Europe. Instead of this natural treasure being the heritage and property of all the people, the fishing rights to its greatest catch, eels, are controlled exclusively by one company, the Dutch-controlled Toome Eel Fisheries (N.I.) Ltd. This company makes the laws, issues licenses, hires bailiffs, prosecutes the fishermen, and can revoke their licenses.

Come all you gallant Ulstermen
And listen what I say,
I was a hardworking fisherman
From the shores of sweet Lough Neagh,
My father fished the deep at Doss
And knew it's rocky shores,
But I have lost my livelihood
And cannot fish no more.

The cruel decision the judges made
In Belfast town one day,
Caused woe and misery for the fishers
Of Lough Neagh,
The decision that those judges made
Our fishing then was doomed,
When they found in favor of the men
From the fisheries at Toome.

Now we contend King Charles gave away
What was not his own,
A gift that scheming lawyers traced
To the fishery at Toome,
They've stolen away what should belong
To each and every man,
And for our fate cruel England's law,
Well, she does not give one damn.

They called our fishing poaching
And they held us up to scorn,
Even though it was a heritage
To which we all were born,
The waters of Lough Neagh we fished
As our fathers did before,
But because of the Toome Eel Fishery
We cannot fish no more.

For they have a great monopoly
That stretches Europe round,
From the Baltic, Scandinavia,
Even to our own Lough Erne,
They now control the markets and
The prices that you pay,
For nature's bounteous harvest
Of our inland sea, Lough Neagh.

But though we've had a setback
The decision we'll reverse,
For Irishmen they must possess
What is given them by birth,
We'll smash that great monopoly
On Lough Neagh's rocky shore,
And Irishmen will gain their right
To fish there evermore.

---

Side 2, Band 3:
THE SMUGGLING MEN
Words: David Hammond
Air: “Limerick Rake”
Sung by: Wyld
Accompaniment: Guitar, mandolin, whistle

Come all you young fellows
That's bound to a trade,
Lay down your spanner,
Your pen and your spade,
Join in with me now ere
Your bloom starts to fade,
And I'll show you a life that's worth living.
The law is against us and dangers we'll find,
Over roads, lakes, and valleys
Your engines will whine,
So forsake your safe job
And throw care to the wind,
—Run as free as the hare on the mountain.

I'll show you a life in the dead of the night,
When the rain's lashing down
And the wind's like a knife,
And many's the dawn you will spend
In full flight,
As the mists curling over the mountain.
The roads unapproved
And the country looks dead,
Reliable sources say the rats are in bed,
Stamp your foot on the brake,
Douse your lights, look ahead,
—Their flashlamps are out to destroy you

You've all heard of traitors
And spies of ill-fame,
Informers who don't know
The meaning of shame,
To outwit these pimps in the smuggling game,
You work in secret and quite single-handed,
They're sleekit, they're greedy,
It's no respect for the law,
(For Queen's regulations they
Don't give a straw)
But they're snooping around for a
Stray word to fall,
—For a few dirty shillings they'd sink you.

The story is finished, the old days are done,
For smuggling declines like the late-setting sun,
The tariffs are threatened,
Free trades nearly won,
And soon there won't be any customs,
I sigh for the times when my pulses ran high,
Lady Luck by my side and the customs close by.
A tinker, a tailor, or a poor man I'll die,
—For they've spiked our old roads o'er the border.

* Note: During the summer of 1970, the British Army "spiked" 25 roads which crossed the border between Eire and Northern Ireland, in an effort to curtail the support given to the liberation forces in the South.

---

Side 2, Band 4:
THE BOGSIDE MAN
Words: McIlvogue
Air: “Hogseye Man&rdquo
Sung by: McIlvogue with group

The Bogside man is the man for me,
He's cut the recruiting in the R.U.C. *
He was the Bogside man.

CHORUS:
Steady on your aim with the petrol bomb,
Don't throw it son, till the peelers come.
I am the Bogside man.

From Belfast town now the Specials came,
They looked at the sky, it started to rain,
—With gratings. (Chorus.)

The Specials came in brown and black,
Your granny ran out and they all run back,
She married the Bogside man. (Chorus.)

We're all browned off with the midnight raids,
Every man to the barricades.
—We are the Bogside men. (Chorus.)


The Bogside now has been set free
The rats have left with the R.U.C.
—We are the Bogside men. (Chorus.)

In to each room they'll make you cram,
Less to a room in Pakistan,
—You are the Bogside man. (Chorus.)

For a house they'll tell you all to save,
You'll get a tent or a bloody cave,
—In the Bogside. (Chorus.)

I haven't the change of a shirt or coat,
There'll be a change when I get me vote,
—I am the Bogside man.

* RUC - Royal Ulster Constabulary

---

Side 2, Band 5:
RUBBER BULLETS
Words: Wyld
Air: “Football Crazy”
Sung by: Wyld
Accompaniment: Guitar, Mandolin

One of the riot control weapons devised by the British Army to maintain the military occupation of Ulster is the rubber bullet. Presumably, this more "humane" tool of warfare will demonstrate the "kindliness" of the authorities in the Six Counties, although its success in achieving that objective has been nil.

CHORUS:
Rubber bullets for the ladies,
Catch them in a CS can,
Three inches wide, six inches long,
Take it home to your old man,
It's an instrument of torture
To break your legs in two,
It'll stop you feeling lonely,
But leave you black and blue.

When you've had your fill of CS gas
Behind the barricade,
And served your time with half bricks,
You've learned a brand new trade,
Fighting for your freedom,
The dignity of man,
Look out for rubber bullets,
The Army's latest plan.

CHORUS

If your family's going hungry,
Curfew needn't break your heart,
The Army's solved your problem,
You can bake a rubber tart,
When you're under house arrest,
And your nerves are getting frayed,
The prescription's rubber bullets
Fired from underneath the bed.

CHORUS

Don't forget the highway code
When crossing of the street,
A bullet doing ninety
Could leave you obsolete,
Watch when stepping off the kerb,
I'm being quite sincere,
A bullet in the proper place
Could leave you feeling queer.

CHORUS

When a soldier says he loves you
Behind the barricade,
Look out for rubber bullets
And grab his red cockade,
The bullet's meant to stun you,
Be careful how you bend,
If it breaks a leg or two,
The Army's sure to comprehend.

CHORUS

---

Side 2, Band 6:
BALLYMURPHY
Words: McIlvogue
Air: “She'll Be Coming Round The Mountain”
Sung by: Lavery
Accompaniment: Guitar, Mandolin

If you hate the British Army, clap your hands,
If you hate the British Army, clap your hands,
If you hate the British Army,
If you hate the British Army,
If you hate the British Army, clap your hands.

They come down from Ballymurphy
When they come,
They come down from Ballymurphy
When they come,
Sure the children won the day,
When they all ran away,
They were only little childer, every one.

We don't want the British Army here to stay,
We don't want the British Army here to stay,
We don't want to be defended
By an army that surrendered
When the kids of Ballymurphy came to play.

Oh, the general he has fainted, is he dead?
Oh, the general he has fainted, is he dead?
For if the women join the fight,
We'll wipe the Army out tonight,
For them women are all Ballymurphy bred.

A coded message came from nowhere, it did say,
At the peril of your lives, ah if you stay,
Oh now men don't be surprised,
But Turf Lodge has organized,
And a doubledecker bus is on its way.

The British Army they will never be the same,
The British Army they will never be the same,
The bravest of them fighting men,
They were beat by kids of ten,
Aye, Ballymurphy put the army all to shame.


If you hate the R.U.C.*, clap your hands,
If you hate the R.U.C., then clap your hands,
If you hate the R.U.C., if you hate the R.U.C.
If you hate the R.U.C., clap your hands.

*Royal Ulster Constabulary

---

Side 2, Band 7:
BALLAD OF LYNCH'S ARMY
Words: McIlvogue
Air: “Let Him Go, Let Him Tarry”
Sung by: McIlvogue
Accompaniment: Accordion, guitar whistle

During the attempted pogrom against the Catholic masses in the North in the summer of 1969, Jack Lynch, the Fianna Fail leader of the government of the South, sent his troops to the border... and, no further. Although this gesture was to appease those of his constituency whose displeasure would be aroused if he should stand idly by, it actually exposed the pseudo nationalist pretenses of Lynch and his party. Eamonn McCann, a leader of the civil-rights struggle in the North, put it this way: “Instead of asking Fianna Fail to move troops into the North, they should have said thet the Fianna Fail will not move troops in because it is a puppet of British Imperialism and puppets don't send troops to fight their masters.

Well Jack Lynch came out from Dublin
And he had 10,000 men,
He marched them up to the border
And he marched them home again,
But such an armoured column, lads,
The like was never seen,
500 mounted bicycles all wearing of the green.

CHORUS:
Let him go, let him tarry,
Let him sink or let him swim,
He doesn't give a damn for us
Or we a damn for him,
He sits on his ass in Dublin,
And I hope he does enjoy,
Selling out his country
For he's England's little boy.

Well, the Special Branch in Dublin
Are something for to see,
They'll crawl out from the castle
To inform on you and me,
But the day is coming soon me boys,
You'll hear those rifles bark,
And the only snakes in Dublin
Will be in the Phoenix Park.

CHORUS

Well, Jack, where were you last August,
With all your merry men,
Ah were you on the Falls Road or
In the Bogside then?
No you were phoning London
And squealing all you knew,
On every Irish rebel
That would hold a gun, it's true.

CHORUS

When we finally get our freedom
We will make them understand,
Scrap Fianna Fail Gestapo,
And all their rotten band.
But we want a true republic
With the workers in command,
That won't betray their countrymen
Or sell them out of hand.

CHORUS

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Side 2, Band 8:
UP IN THE ARMAGH PRISON (Bernadette Devlin)
Words: McIlvogue
Air: "The Old Triangle”
Sung by: Lavery
Accompaniment: Whistle

Up in the Armagh Prison,
Where they keep the women,
Young Devlin lies In a prison cell.

CHORUS:
And for the Bogside people
There'll be no sleeping,
Until young Devlin
Has been set free.

Ah, the oul' Judge framed her,
As they tried to shame her,
But the world's acclaimed her,
For all she's done. (Chorus)

Ah, did youmsee them running,
From our petrol bombing?
Sure they ran like rats,
Instead of men. (Chorus)

For defending Bogside,
That was why she was tried,
She forced the policemen,
All to fly. (Chorus.)

Ah, the day is coming,
When we'll all stop running,
And Connolly's cause
Will call again.

FINAL CHORUS
Then the Irish People,
Will stop their sleeping,
And we'll set our country,
All free again.