I am a proud young Irishman
In Ulster's hills my life began
A happy boy through green fields ran
And kept God's and man's laws
But when my age was barely ten
My country's wrongs were told again
By tens of thousands marching men
And my heart stirred to the cause
So I'll wear no convict's uniform
Nor meekly serve my time
That Britain might brand Ireland's fight
Eight hundred years of crime
I learned of centuries of strife
Of cruel laws, injustice rife
I saw now in my own young life
The fruits of foreign sway
Protestors threatened, tortured, maimed
Division nurtured, passions flamed
Outrage provoked, right's cause defamed
This is the conquerer's way
I'll wear no convict's uniform
Nor meekly serve my time
That Britain might brand Ireland's fight
Eight hundred years of crime
Descendant of proud Connacht clan
Concannon serves cruel Britain's plan
Man's inhumanity to man
Has spawned a trusty slave
No stranger are these bolts and locks
No new design these dark H-Blocks
Black Cromwell lives while Mason stalks
The bully taunts the brave
But I'll wear no convict's uniform
Nor meekly serve my time
That Britain might brand Ireland's fight
Eight hundred years of crime
Does Britain need a thousand years
Of protest, riot, death and tears
Or will this past decade of fears
Of eighty decades spell
And end to Ireland's agony
New hope for human dignity
And will the last obscenity
Be this grim H-Block cell
I'll wear no convict's uniform
Nor meekly serve my time
That Britain might brand Ireland's fight
Eight hundred years of crime