HOORAH! the dawn begins to break,
Ould Ireland's sons at last awake,
And from their sowls the shackles shake
That long have kept them under.
Arise, then, brave Phoenicians all,
Obey your noble gineral's call;
From off the steps of City Hall
You hear his voice of thunder!

O OAKEY, darlin'! you're the wan
To take ould Erin by the han';
We'll pummel the Britishers every man,
And make you King of Ireland!

Go rowl the news across the say,
Of how we spint the glorious day,
A hundred thousand on Broadway,
And more upon the Island.
Go tell the lords in Parlamint,
Of how Saint PATRICK'S day was spint,
And see if they don't reduce the rint
On every fut of dry land.

O OAKEY, darlin'! you're the wan
To take ould Erin by the han';
We'll pummel the Britishers every man,
And make you King of Ireland!

Go tell them how you raised the flag,
The green above their crimson rag,