O Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that’s going round?
The Shamrock is forbid, by laws, to grow on Irish ground
No more St. Patrick’s day we’ll keep, his colour last be seen
For, there’s a bloody law agin the Wearing of the Green.

Oh! I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand,
And he says; How is Poor Auld Ireland, and does she stand?
She’s the most distressed Country that ever I have seen
For, they are hanging men and women for the Wearing of the Green.

And since the colour we must wear, is England’s cruel red,
Auld Ireland’s sons will ne’er forget the blood that they have shed.
Then take the Shamrock from your hat, and cast it on the sod
It will take root, and flourish still, tho’ under foot ’tis trod.

When the law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow.
And when the leaves, in Summer time, their verdure does not show.
Then, I will change the colour I wearin’ my cabbeen
But, till that day, please God ! I'll stick to the Wearing of the Green.

But if, at last, her colours should be torn from Ireland’s heart
Her sons, with shame and sorrow, from the dear old soil will part
I’ve heard whispers of a Country that lies far beyond sea,
Where rich and poor stand equal, in the light of Freedom’s day.

O Erin! must we leave you driven by the tyrant’s hand
Must we ask a Mother’s blessing, in a strange but happy land
Where the cruel Cross of England’s thraldom never to be seen
But where, thank God! we’ll live and die, still Wearing of the Green.