The men that God made mad(R. Kavana)
Far, far from Clifden’s rocky shore o’er the broad Atlantic sea
The battalion of Saint Patrick tired of harsh brutality
No more abuse or bigotry, their angry cry whole-hearted,
Near Matamoras lives were lost, that’s when the fightin’ started.
Who were those men? What was the crime
For which their lives were wasted?
Did they rob or rape, or was their fate
As the poet once related?
Were those great Gaels of Ireland
The men that God made mad?
Their wars were never merry,
But all their songs were sad.
Land of the free meant ‘liberty’ to the U.S. army’s Irish
’Til James K. Polk he sent them south to ‘civilize’ the Spanish
In a war to extend slavery and unjust exploitation
They’d not repeat what Cromwell did to their own poor Irish nation.
At La Angostura Irish blood drenched the sun-baked clay
And Mexico still honours those brave men who died that day
But the worst was yet to come in the hour that war was ended
When General Scott hung the Irishmen to celebrate with vengeance.