The Irish State Wears Borrowed Shame, (Rebellious Upbeat Irish ballad)

The Irish State Wears Borrowed Shame is a fierce modern protest song that tears the mask from the face of a nation that has forgotten its own rebellion. It speaks from the soil upward, from the people who still toil and pay while the powerful trade away Ireland’s soul for comfort and position. The verses echo the cadence of old rebel ballads yet strike with the anger of the present age. In its first verse, the song paints the image of ordinary men and women working the same fields their ancestors fought for, but under a new kind of bondage — not the red hand of empire but the polished bureaucracy of Brussels and the greed of homegrown elites. It condemns the false promises of parties that once claimed to fight for freedom but now live on deception and foreign favour. The second verse turns the blade inward, calling out Sinn Féin, once the banner of resistance, now accused of wearing the tricolour while serving the same masters they once swore to overthrow. The third verse widens the scope, naming Fine Gael and Fianna Fáil as architects of the chains that bind the nation, heirs to a century of compromise and submission. The bridge ties past and present together — from Strongbow to the EU — showing how conquest changes shape but never purpose. Through its chorus the cry repeats like a war drum: “Oh, curse the hands that bind us still,” a reminder that occupation can come by pen as well as sword. The song ends not in defeat but in defiance, raising a call to remember, to speak truth, and to stand once more for the honour that too many have sold. It is both elegy and uprising — a mirror held to a nation’s conscience. Hear more traditional Irish ballads on Youtube




LYRICS

Verse 1 In Ireland’s fields, the people toil, Beneath the yoke of stolen soil. The parties preach their threadbare lies, While hunger burns in children’s eyes. From Liffey’s banks to Clare’s wide plain, They drain the poor to feed their gain. The Crown once forged this bitter cry, Now Brussels rules with flags flown high. Chorus Oh, curse the hands that bind us still, Foreign chains on every hill. Importing votes, their traitor’s game The Irish State wears borrowed shame. Verse 2 Sinn Féin turns, a blade in our back, Once rebels bold, now the State’s own pack. A traitor’s smile in tricolour lace, They sold the dream for a master’s place. A Judas kiss from a trusted face, They kneel to power, while they wreck the place. The people starve, the rents climb high, And truths are smothered with each lie. Chorus Oh, curse the hands that bind us still, Foreign chains on every hill. Importing votes, their traitor’s game The Irish State wears borrowed shame. Verse 3 Fine Gael struts, Fianna Fáil reigns, Since ’22, they’ve forged the chains. Quislings born of the first dark tide, Since Norman boots stole Irish pride. They bowed to London, now bow again, When Davos calls, they fetch the pen. A nation sold with each new pact, That old betrayal — Brussels-backed. Chorus Oh, curse the hands that bind us still, Foreign chains on every hill. Importing votes, their traitor’s game The Irish State wears borrowed shame. Bridge The banks grow fat, the people bleed, As policies serve foreign greed. The EU pact, the migrant flow, Drowns native voice in a global show. From Strongbow’s sword to today's deceit, They grind our bones beneath their feet. A stolen flag, a hollow claim, Draped in lies, and soaked in shame. Chorus Oh, curse the hands that bind us still, Foreign chains on every hill. Importing votes, their traitor’s game The Irish State wears borrowed shame. Outro So raise the cry for the ones betrayed, By every deal these crooks have made. Sinn Féin, Fine Gael, Fianna Fáil's sin The global lords keep pulling them in. They bowed to Brussels, they crave the nod, Their fathers’ blood still stains the sod. Through centuries of theft and pain, The soul survives — though bound in chain.

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