Dressed in a battle jacket, with a carbine in his hand.
He came to lead the people, told them, "Do not be afraid,
If working people organise, we'll win," that's what he said.
Through Belfast he would wander, with a big price on his head,
The poor did not betray him, for in their homes he stayed.
Internment came, they did not take him, "Go to the South," they said.
No more we'll run, but hold our guns at the barricades instead.
Came the night I well remember, the night of the market raid,
The people's army in the street, outnumbered, unafraid.
With a small band of his comrades, a regiment he held at bay,
All night he fought to hold them off that his men might get away.
Down Joy Street he was walking, the Branch men laid their plan.
The soldiers shot him down unarmed, they feared that brave young man.
They shot him in the Markets, the People's friend was lying dead,
We'll not forget the words he spoke, "Organise now," big Joe said.
Contributed by Alessandro - 2010/2/22 - 13:50
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