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The House of Orange

I took back my hand and I showed him the door.
No dollar of mine would I part with this day, 
for fueling the engine of a bloody cruel war,
In my forefather's home far away,

Who fled the first fammine wearing all that they own.
Were called navigators all ragged and torn, 
and built the grand trunk here and found a new home,
where ever their children were born.

Their sons have no politics none can recall 
alliegence from long generations before.
"O" this or "O" that name can't matter at all,
or be cause enough for to war.

And meanwhile my babies are safe in their home.
Unlike their pale cousins who cower and cry,
while kneecappers nail their poor dads to the floor,
and teach them to hate and to die.

It's those cruel beggers who spurn the fare point,
The peace for their kids they could take at their will.
Since the day old King Billy prevailed at the Boyne,
They've bombed and they've maimed and they've killed.

Now they cry out for money and they wail at the door,
but home rule or republic 'tis all of it shame 
And a curse for us here who want nothing of war.
We're kindred in nothing but name.

All rights and all wrongs have long since blown away,
For causes are ashes where children lye slain,
Yet the damned UDL and the cruel IRA 
will tomorrow go murdering again.

But no penny of mine will I add to the fray.
Remember the Boyne they will cry out in vein,
For I've given my heart to the place I was born
and forgiven the whole house of Orange.
King Billy and the whole house of Orange.

Stan Rogers 1983

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