Immigrant's Sons

We drink, we fight, we do our best when we get tight

We drink, we fight, if you drove us wild

Why don’t you slip away and your lives will be spared

If you stand in way of immigrant’s sons we’ll put you into hell

Daddy died of hunger when the famine’s broken out

Mother took me and me brother, we left our lovely town

A long and weary journey across the stormy sea

We landed at the Boston bay and moved in

Mom became a washerwoman for a rich man’s house

Brother and me carried coal in the local mine

Irish people stick together, we met them for a pint

We played a jigg and danced together all night

We’re proud ’cause our Irish gang is the toughest out of all

Watch your step in our district ’cause we stick you to the wall

No problem for us to beat you, we go to see the priest

In God’s name he can absolve us from our sins

March 17 and we all meet at MacNamara’s place

Celebrating Éire and St. Patrick’s Day

The fiddle plays some good old songs that came over the sea

We keep the way our traditions must be