Текст Christy Moore – Smoke & Strong Whiskey

Kids wear white garters, and smell like their mothers
Whose husbands and fathers alike
Drink black beer in the same public houses
Smelling of smoke and strong whiskey

Mammies and daddies, skipping ropes
Lectures from priests, living in hope
That they’ve not mistaken the brand of their coats
They’ve paid for by spiritual teachings

A busy year this, streets running red
How many sent to their nuptial bed
How many sent home to a winter of graves
How many wait in for the slaughter

It’s Easter again, and we cannot forget
Our brothers and sisters and all that was said
So practise your pipes, stand proud in the wet
For the eyes of the world are upon you

Oh, oh, the holy ground
Céad mile failte, there’s saints and there’s scholars to see
Oh, oh, the holy ground
Faraway hills ain’t as green as they once used to be

Seventeen years, Kelly is a man
Who stands on the street with a gun in his hand
He’s protecting the pipers that play in the band
While the enemy waits with an army

God in his mercy has given us men
To lead us to peace but they can’t bring an end
To the profits that pay off the lease on the land
We’re still sending them over the water

Dia le hÉireann, suckle the empire
Dia le hÉireann, suffer the loss

Father walks home on a colourless night
The organization has blinded his sight
His wife and his kids are sleeping tonight
In the arms of sweet Jesus and Mary