Go on home British soldiers go on home, Have you got no fucking homes of your own? For eight hundred years we've fought you without fear And we will fight
'Twas a morning in July, I was walking to Tipperary When I heard a battle cry From the mountains over head As I looked up in the sky I saw an Irish soldier
Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing, For the love of one's country is a terrible thing. It banishes fear with the speed of a flame And it
Go on home British soldiers go on home, Have you got no fucking homes of your own? For eight hundred years we've fought you without fear And we will
