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Lyrics by Dominic Behan to the tune of The Merry Month of May which tells the story of Fergal O'Hanlon from Ballybay, Co. Monaghan who was killed whilst taking part in an attack on the Royal Ulster Constabulary in 1957, a month before his 21st birthday.
Patriot Game, The
by Dominic Behan
Come [G] all ye young [C] re- [G] bels, and [D] list while I [G] sing,
For the [C] love of one's [G] country is a [Bm] terrible [G] thing.
It [C] banishes [G] fear with the [Bm] speed of a [G] flame,
And it makes us all [C] part [G] of the [D] patriot [G] game.
My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen.
My home is in Monaghan, and where I was weaned
I learned all my life cruel England's to blame,
So now I am part of the patriot game.
This Ireland of ours has too long been half free.
Six counties lie under John Bull's tyranny.
But still De Valera is greatly to blame
For shirking his part in the Patriot game.
They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair,
His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare.
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame
They soon made me part of the patriot game.
It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
For I read of our heroes, and wanted the same
To play out my part in the patriot game.
And now as I lie here, my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained in souls
And I wish that my rifle had given the same
To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game.
For the [C] love of one's [G] country is a [Bm] terrible [G] thing.
It [C] banishes [G] fear with the [Bm] speed of a [G] flame,
And it makes us all [C] part [G] of the [D] patriot [G] game.
My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen.
My home is in Monaghan, and where I was weaned
I learned all my life cruel England's to blame,
So now I am part of the patriot game.
This Ireland of ours has too long been half free.
Six counties lie under John Bull's tyranny.
But still De Valera is greatly to blame
For shirking his part in the Patriot game.
They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair,
His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare.
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame
They soon made me part of the patriot game.
It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
For I read of our heroes, and wanted the same
To play out my part in the patriot game.
And now as I lie here, my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained in souls
And I wish that my rifle had given the same
To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game.