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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.

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