I was born in the Dublin street
Where the loyal drums do beat,
And the loving English feet walked all over us;
And every single night when me dad would come home tight,
He'd invite the neighbours out with this chorus:
Come out you black and tans,
Come out and fight me like a man,
Show your wife how you won medals down in Flanders;
Tell her how the IRA made you run like hell away,
From the green and lovely lanes of Killeshandra.
Come tell us how you slew
Them ol' Arabs two by two,
Like the Zulus they had knives and bows and arrows;
Of how bravely you faced one with your sixteen-pounder gun,
And you frightened all the natives to the marrow.
Come out you black and tans,
Come out and fight me like a man,
Show your wife how you won medals down in Flanders;
Tell her how the IRA made you run like hell away,
From the green and lovely lanes of Killeshandra.
Come let us hear you tell
How you slammed the brave Parnell,
And taught him well and truly persecuted;
Where are the stares and jeers that you proudly let us hear,
When our heroes of sixteen were executed.
Come out you black and tans,
Come out and fight me like a man,
Show your wife how you won medals down in Flanders;
Tell her how the IRA made you run like hell away,
From the green and lovely lanes of Killeshandra.
Oh! Come out you British Huns,
Come out and fight without your guns,
Show your wife how you won medals up in Derry;
You murdered sixteen men and you'll do the same again,
So get out of here and take your bloody army.
Come out you black and tans,
Come out and fight me like a man,
Show your wife how you won medals down in Flanders;
Tell her how the IRA made you run like hell away,
From the green and lovely lanes of Killeshandra.
Oh! Come out you black and tans,
Come out and fight me like a man,
Show your wife how you won medals down in Flanders;
Tell her how the IRA made you run like hell away,
From the green and lovely lanes of Killeshandra.
Love that song! It was one of the first I ever played. There’s one more verse...
Oh, the time is coming fast
And the day is nearly past,
When each yeoman shall be cast aside before us;
And if there be a need then my sons will sing Godspeed
With a verse or two from Brendan Beehan’s chorus.