The Dubliners — The Battle of the Somme / Freedom Come All Ye

Rough's the wind in the clear day's dawning Blows the clouds head-oer-heel across the bay But there's more than a rough wind blowing Through the Great Glen of the world today It's a thought that would make our vermin All those rogues who strut and swagger without care Take the road and seek other lodgings With their vile schemes to sport and play No more will our fine lads be commanded To march to war at a braggarts call Nor wee weans from pitheads and clachans Mourn the ships sailing down the Broomielaw Broken families in lands we've vanquished Will curse "Scotland the Brave", nae mair, nae mair Black and white to one another married Will make the slums of their masters bare So come all ye at home with freedom Never heed those prophets of doom In your house all the bairns of Adam Will find bread, drink and painted rooms When Maclean meets with friends in Springburn All the rose and cherry trees will turn to bloom And the black lad from Nyanga Will break the powers of his masters doon