| Lyrics | - Down in Hogan’s Alley lived widow Kate O’Malley and right next door was Schultz’s butcher store, shure, the widow used to deal there, buy her corned beef, pork and veal there, and she and Schultz would argue ‘bout the war. But Schultz got in wrong Tuesday night and said the Irish wouldn’t fight, Kate’s Irish blood began to boil, as proudly she replied: “Sure, me youngest boy’s enlisted in the Navy, and his brother Danny went with the Marines, you know little Mike O’Hare, he’s a-fightin’ in the air? The Sixty-Ninth took two lads from McLean’s
- look there’s a service flag a-flyin’ at McCarthy’s, Tim O’Brien’s boy he leaves for France tonight, in a fight sure Paddy never runs, unless he’s running after Huns, an Irishman was made to love and fight! Now Schultz just pay attention, and pardon if I mention, the Irish always were a fightin’ race, Patrick Henry was a grand man, Sherman fought to beat the band, man, the deeds of Kitchner time cannot efface. And Schultz just paste this in your bat, that ev’ry Michael, Tim and Pat, who loves the wearin’ of the green will fight for Uncle Sam. Sure, for bravery Dan Flynn’s been made a captain, and me daughter’s with the Red Cross over there, did you hear that Tommy Breen sunk a great big submarine? At drowning rats Tom always was a bear. On next St. Patrick’s day, we’ll march the streets of Berlin, ev’ry German better wear a shamrock bright, sure, an Irish soldier on a crutch can lick a dozen dirty Dutch, an Irishman was made to love and fight!”
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