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The Sons of Éire - The Cheeky Celt
In the shadow of the rising sun
Where foreign sands and rivers run
The sons of Eire shoulder their pain
Far from the hills of home again
They fight for a flag
That's not their own
Dream of green fields
Where winds have blown
Whispers of Erin
Call them near
But all they hold is their battle gear
The clovers fade in the foreign soil
Hands calloused hard from years of toil
Their voices echo through the night
Singing songs of home in the firelight
Oh lads who tread on distant shores
Do you still hear the Shannon's roar
Or does the cannon drown the sound
Of the rolling waves on Irish ground
They fight for a flag
That's not their own
Dream of green fields
Where winds have blown
Whispers of Erin
Call them near
But all they hold is their battle gear
Their hearts still beat with Ireland's pride
Though in strange lands they must abide
With every step through the smoke and rain
They carry their homeland in every vein
Their hearts still beat with Ireland's pride
Though in strange lands they must abide
With every step through the smoke and rain
They carry their homeland in every vein