The House of Orange

I took back my hand and I showed him the door
No dollar of mine would I part with this day
For fuelling the engines of a bloody cruel war
In my forefather's home far away

Who fled the first famine wearing all that they owned
Were called navigators, all ragged and torn
And built the Grand Trunk and found a new home
Wherever their children were born

Their sons had no politics
None can recall allegiance to long generations before
All this, or all that, name can't matter at all
Or because enough for to war

And meanwhile my babies are safe in their homes
And like their pale cousins who cower and cry
While kneecappers nail their poor dads to the floor
And teach them to hate and to die

It's those cruel beggars who spurn the fair coin
The peace for their kids they could take at their will
Since the day old King Billy prevailed at the Boyne
They've bombed, and they've maimed, and they've killed

Now they cry out for money and wail at the door
But home rule or republic, 'tis all of it shame
And a curse for us here who want nothing of war
We are kindred in nothing but name

All rights and all wrongs have long since blown away
For causes, our ashes where children lie slain
Yet the dead UDL and the cruel IRA
Will tomorrow go murdering again

But no penny of mine will I add to the fray
Remember the Boyne they will cry out in vain
For I've given my heart to the place I was born
And forgiven the whole House of Orange
King Billy and the whole House of Orange