1. I am John McCure. I am young and poor.
In Belfast I was born.
Now here I stand with my gun in my hand,
On this cold and wintry morn.

 [bad word]  Many men have hopes that I will die.
I am cursed by one and all;
But in Belfast town, when the sun goes down,
There is no hope at all.

2. I can see my child, barely nine years old,
Her face all twisted in fear;
And the hate I hold for the men who control her
Is more than I can bear.

3. I bear no hate for my Protestant brother.
I offer to him my hand;
But for England's sons, with their long-barreled guns,
I pledge a rebel stand.

4. May the children's eyes see the sun soon rise
In the morning clear and cold;
And the flag that flies in the Belfast skies
Be the Green and White and Gold.