London Loves Me

I think this is a supposed to be a ballad (or a reggae tune), if you’re interested in putting it to music, finding a tune, singing it, get in touch!

London loves me this I’m told

And besides I’m still not old

Still ID-ed buying tobacco

Still smoking, silly I know

Yeah sure, I’ll soon quit,

Soon I’ll be done of it

Cause this Lear child’s been recalled

They want me back before I’m bald

Cause we lose our brightest soldiers

Across our borders , now under orders

To return from whence I came

Before I’m withered, old and lame

Like the children of King Lear

Ate nettles throughout the year

Spellbound to live as swans

Watching father’s final dawns

And when the monks’ bell tolled

Children nine hundred years old

Crumbled to dust, blew away,

Now more leave everyday

London loves me, this I’m told

And besides I’m still not old

The Wild geese we call them

The great Irish migration

From home we’re flying

With Ryanair it’s less trying

Recruited as strong and hardy

For many a foreign army

Fifteen eighty left the shore

Beating down Belgium’s door

To fight the English in exile

Monks and soldiers Irish style

With their own colleges

In the Flanders’ Brussels

Returned in sixteen eighty one

Thinking Ireland could be won

But it’s another failed rebellion

And Ireland became Cromwellian

Thirty four thousand geese flew

To fight in countries old and new

Spain, Austria or France,

Irish prized for excellence

London loves me, this I’m told

And besides I’m still not old

I’ve been gone since O three

Returning sporadically

The Christian festivals

Give me Irish intervals

Going back to play at gigs

Staying in squatted digs

Meeting the Irish anarchists

Topping up my Irishness

Wondering can I live like this?

Another war in sixteen ninety,

Helped by French King Louis

He swapped troops from his army

To join the Catholic Jacobite

The Orangemen won the fight

Still celebrated every July

Once saw a parade go by

In Glasgow, not my Ulster home

Nothing like a Lambeg drone

It’s loulder than any moan

Feel more Irish when I roam

London loves me, this I’m told

And besides I’m still not old

Post the Battle of the Boyne

New head on the English coin

Twenty thousand exiled for peace

More wild flying geese

The Irish Catholic gentry

Officers of the French army

Recruited countrymen freely

kept the young, jobless busy

But they rebelled with the Scottish

And England put a stop to this

All the Wild Geese descendants

Held on to Irish heritages

Failed again to form a state

In seventeen ninety eight

The Irish Chieftains’ children

Counts in the French Legion

Swedish, Italian or Polish

Most prized fighters – Irish

They’ld fight for a full purse

Or against the English curse

London loves me, this I’m told

And besides I’m still not old

Now builders and publicians

Lapsed Catholic republicians

Sending money for the fight

Till that nine eleven flight

I’ve always found it odd

How we do so well abroad

But our wee Celtic kitten

Hadn’t much life in him

The Penal Laws for Irish

Seventeen ninety –  abolished

Free to carry England’s gun

Fight for us, to get your freedom

More chance of that succeeding

Than another failed Fenian

World renowned as warriors

Couldn’t beat the English soliders

Till nineteen twenty one

Finally a free state won

With the loss of Northern Ulster

O’Neill’s land an English cluster

London loves me, this I’m told

And besides I’m still not old

And when will I fly home

To my Tryrone, my Tir Eoghain

My homeplace, land of Owen

Another wild goose has flown

London loves me, this I’m told

And besides I’m still not old


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