THORNE BROTHERS MUSIC
  • Home
  • Green Room Janitors
  • Turf Fire Liars
  • About
  • Home
  • Green Room Janitors
  • Turf Fire Liars
  • About
Search
Credits
Production Notes

Lyrics

Where The Wild Shamrock Grow
By Will Thorne & Jake Thorne​​​
Green were the hills of old county Wexford
Black were the chains on Father Murphy, bound
Red was the color of the Yeoman butchers
This is holy ground

From Perth out to Canberra 
All across Australia
You’ll find your sons and daughters where the four winds blow
Quebec to Victoria
Up north in Canada
That’s where you’ll find us where the wild shamrocks grow
 
Green were the valleys stolen from our fathers
Black were the praties rotting in the ground
Blue was the ocean rolling out to freedom
Now tell me Erin’s children where can you be found?

Peru to Argentina 
Down in South America
You’ll find your sons and daughters where the four winds blow
New YORK to California 
All across America
That’s where you’ll find us where the wild shamrocks grow

Green was the flag flying over Dublin
Black were the coffins lowered in the ground
White were the lilies on that Easter morning
Now tell me Erin’s children where can you be found?

All the colors fade with time – even the songs may lose their rhyme
But the stories must pass down
So we’d better pass them on – or soon they will be gone
Left there with them in the ground 

Green were the hills around the road from Mallow
Black was the day they shot Mick Collins down
Red is the flame that burns for Ireland’s freedom
Now tell me Erin’s children where can you be found?
The Kings Of Brooklyn
By Will Thorne & Jake Thorne​
We’re the Kings of Brooklyn
We’re the boys who went and built the Brooklyn Bridge - oh
We’re the Kings of Brooklyn
From Canarsie all the way to Bay Ridge - oh
Brick and mortar and steel
Saved us from poverty
 
We’re the Kings of Brooklyn
We’re the boys who went and built up to the sky - oh
We’re the Kings of Brooklyn
From Coney Island all the way to Bedford-Stuy
With brick and mortar and steel
Foundations of liberty
 
I fled from Dublin city in the spring of 21
I landed in Manhattan as a rebel’s son
So I made my way out to find a job for me
And I found it there in the halls of Tammany
They never made me convert
They only asked that I get out and vote
They made me a sandhog and sent me to dig up the city
 
I’m beating all the odds because I smashed the hand of fate
Now I’m standing like a king atop the empire state
So I’ll make my way out to find a job for me
And I’ll find it there in the halls of Tammany
They never made me convert
They only asked that I show up to work
They made me a Steelman and sent me to build up the city
 
I’m never going home again there’s nothing there for me
Ireland’s just a broken painful memory
So I’ll stay right here in the land of the free
And I’ll find it there in the halls of Tammany
They never made me convert
They only asked that I get out and  vote
They made me a copper and sent me to police the city

Picture
Waltz Back To Me
By Will Thorne & Jake Thorne​
I see by the look on your face that you’re stunned to see
A man who you once loved has now returned from the sea
I know I’ve hurt you darlin’, and I’ll do my penance until I see
You come back a waltzing to me – Kitty Magee
You’re the reason a heart beats in me – can’t you see?
I – did what I had to do
But now, I’m coming home, straight back to you

 
I was a passenger in my own life, just drifting through
So how could you love any man til he knew, how to be true?
That’s what the ocean gave me, and I’ll do my penance until I see
You come back a waltzing to me – Sweet Kitty Magee
You’re the reason a heart beats in me – can’t you see?
I – did what I had to do
But now, I’m coming home, straight back to you
 
I ran away to the sea to find something in me
I left as a boy but return as man, hoping to see
That you will forgive me darlin’, and I’ll do my penance until I see
You come back a waltzing to me – a cuisle mo chroi
You’re the reason a heart beats in me – can’t you see?
I – did what I had to do
But now, I’m coming home, straight back to you
California Gold
By Will Thorne
I left my home in Donegal in the spring of ’54
The hunger drove me from the hills to Sligo’s rocky shore
Where I climbed aboard a coffin ship and sailed across the sea
Headed for America, to find my destiny

The town of Boston welcomed me with a cold and icy stare
"No Irish workers need apply” each sign post would declare
So I packed my things to head out west and work upon the rail
Just another immigrant along the iron trail

And I never knew what it meant to be an Irishman ’til then
Carving out a piece of freedom in a foreign land
The railway owns my body and the church can have my soul
But the future’s mine and shines as bright as California gold

As we worked the rail the fella’ standing next to me
Extended out his hand and said “hello, my name is Lee”
And as I shook his Chinese hand we both began to grin
‘Cuz he was just the same as me, and he’d been where I’d been.

And when that final gold spike was driven in the ground
And I looked into the Irish faces all around
It was was then I knew that we could make it on our own
In this land of liberty, we’d finally found our home
​
Mother Jones 
By Will Thorne & Jake Thorne​
Barely 5 feet tall – she had no fear at all
As she battled against injustice
Her children dead and gone - She chose to carry on
For the workers that now implored her
To fight the fight that she knew was their right
Just to live, with some dignity

 
So here’s to the working man, who loves this land, down in his soul
Here’s to the railway man, who’s calloused hands are worked to the bone
If you’ve got a fair day’s pay and place to stay you can thank Mother Jones

 
She traveled far and wide – across the country side
Where ever the struggle took her
Irish born and bred - A price upon her head
For the hell that she was raising
To fight the fight that she knew was our right
Just to live, with some dignity
 
So here’s to the workingman, deep in the land, digging for coal
Here’s to the factory man, who’s calloused hands are worked to the bone
If you’ve got a fair day’s pay and place to stay you can thank Mother Jones
​
In Ludlow’s mining town – they tried to gun us down
For standing against injustice
From the union halls  - through jail house walls
Mother Jones told our story for us
To fight the fight that she knew was our right
Just to live, with some dignity
 
Here’s to the workingman, who loves this land, deep in his soul
If you’ve got a fair day’s pay and place to stay you can thank Mother Jones
So let’s lift a glass today as we shout hooray for our dear Mother Jones

​Straight Away
By Will Thorne & Jake Thorne​
My father left when we were young
He left his wife and four wee sons
To go and fight for liberty
That’s what my mother said to me

 
So I asked my mother dear
If he came home to us this year
by God’s mercy and his grace
would he recognize my face?
 
(and my mother said)
He would know you straight away
He would know you by your thick black hair, your hungry stare
He would know you straight away
He would know you by your shoulders wide, like the Shannon’s tide
And don’t you look just like him now?
You’re the mirror image of him, heaven help me now
 
When I reached my 18th year
I saw my future bright and clear
To join my father by his side
to see our country unified
 
So I made my way to town
and began to ask around
I found a man who said to me
try your luck in Tandragee
 
(and he said)
You will know him straight away
You will know him by his thick black hair, his mournful stare
You will know him straight away
You will know him by his shoulders wide, like the Shannon’s tide
And don’t you look just like him now?
You’re the mirror image of him, heaven help you now
 
In the town of Tandragee
I found the man who’d haunted me
In an alley by a pub
Lying face down in the mud
 
Our mother’d lied to hide our shame
the man who’d caused her so much pain
never fought for freedom’s flame
the drunkard simply ran away
​Home At My Local 
​
By Jake Thorne 
Everyone knows an emigration story and mine is better than most
It’s the first 18 months that leave you hollow as a ghost.
I never thought that this would be my life. I can’t help you understand
But after a few I’ll admit I never had a plan
 
But if I were home at my local there’d be Jerry at the taps and Tommy 3 stools down by the door.
If I close my eyes for a moment it’s his round and we're slagging like before
The knotted grain of the bar, Hurley sticks on the wall and the mismatching tile in the Jacks
 Now I’m thinking of the old songs of leaving and doubtful I’ll be going back
 
Much as I still miss the old hunts, it’s a bit unsettling to me.
To know that if I stayed, exactly where I would be.
These yanks all stress about the trivial, and every day I’m just a bit more that way.
I believed I was a rock but truth is we’re all mostly clay.
​
My family only knows scattered stories of what I left behind
And that feeling of home may only be something in my mind
​
Be Slow To Blame
By Pat MacManus
John was born and raised in Derry where he never had a job
though jobs were there for others with less skills
He met a girl and married, raised a family on the dole and the money that his wife earned in the mill. 

Then the troubles came and out he went to fight 
The chance had come to rise above his shame
To free himself from misery and find some self respect
Be slow to blame you might have done the same
Be slow to blame you might have done the same

Jim was raised in Belfast City on a street of Micks and Prods Till the troubles came a forced him from his job
He saw his home burned down by those who once had been his friends,  watched his father beaten by a mod.

So he hit out in the only way he knew
To get revenge and freedom was his aim
With fire and bomb and bullet he set out to destroy
Be slow to blame you might have done the same
Be slow to blame you might have done the same

Joe was brought up in a ghetto in a dirty city slum
​He had no place to play accept the street
His father and his brothers lived in bookies and in pubs
while Joe got into trouble with police

He was 13 when the riots his the scene
At first he looked upon them as a game
but now he toats a gun and goes out to play with death 
Be slow to blame you might have done the same

Be slow to blame you might have done the same

If the troubles haven't hurt you and your home is safe and sound
If the sorrow of Long Kesh has past you by
If you haven't lost a loved one and your job is still secure you can spare a thought for other if you try. 

Put yourself in their position
Try to see their point of view
Don't rush to point the finger and cry shame
Be a little understanding of what they felt they had to do
​Be slow to blame you might have done the same

Be slow to blame you might have done the same
Turf Fire Liars
Credits
HOME ​
Production Notes
ABOUT

Turf Fire Liars

Copyright © 2021
  • Home
  • Green Room Janitors
  • Turf Fire Liars
  • About