I am John McClure, I am young and poor, in Belfast I was born,
Now here I stand with my gun in my hand, this cold and
Wintry morn.
I can see my child only nine years old, her mind all twisted in fear,
And the hate I hold for the men who control her is more than
I can bear.
Many men have hopes that I will die, I am cursed by one and all,
But in Belfast town, when the sun goes down, there is no hope at all.
I bear no hate for my protestant brother. I offer to him my hand;
But for England's sons with their long-barreled guns I pledge
A revolution.
May the children's eyes see the sun so rise in the morning
Clear and cold,
And the flag that flies in the Belfast skies be the green and
White and gold.
Many men have hopes that I will die, I am cursed by one and all,
But in Belfast town, when the sun goes down, there is no hope at all.
