We went down to Churubusco,
But the devil got there first;
the road was hard, the way was long,
Churubusco was far worse.
Pressed in the Union Army
and ordered off to go
along the southern border
to the sands of Mexico.
Now we come from Cork and Kerry,
that emerald world has past,
My Mary would be pleased to know
I’m a praying man at last!
In this distressed country
little comfort do we know;
my Bible is my road map
on the sands of Mexico.
When the road is cold up yonder, I’ll be there,
the boys will harmonize a lovely Irish air.
Take a message to my Mary,
she’s the one that’s true I know:
when you saw me I had fallen
on the sands of Mexico.
Now the army used us harshly,
we were but trash to them,
conscripted Irish farmers
not first class soldier men.
They beat us and they banged us,
mistreated us, you know,
but they couldn’t make us killers,
on the sands of Mexico
That’s why we call it faith,
that’s why we call him Lord,
that’s why I threw away
my Yankee sword.
Our John Riley seized the day
and marched us down the road,
and we wouldn’t slay our brothers,
on the sands of Mexico.
Faith and righteousness was all in vain,
Irish blood was spilled once again.
As I stand upon the gallows,
it cheers the soul to know
history will absolve us
on the sands of Mexico.
The sands of Mexico,
the bloody sands of Mexico!
La historia me absolverá
on the sands of Mexico
But the devil got there first;
the road was hard, the way was long,
Churubusco was far worse.
Pressed in the Union Army
and ordered off to go
along the southern border
to the sands of Mexico.
Now we come from Cork and Kerry,
that emerald world has past,
My Mary would be pleased to know
I’m a praying man at last!
In this distressed country
little comfort do we know;
my Bible is my road map
on the sands of Mexico.
When the road is cold up yonder, I’ll be there,
the boys will harmonize a lovely Irish air.
Take a message to my Mary,
she’s the one that’s true I know:
when you saw me I had fallen
on the sands of Mexico.
Now the army used us harshly,
we were but trash to them,
conscripted Irish farmers
not first class soldier men.
They beat us and they banged us,
mistreated us, you know,
but they couldn’t make us killers,
on the sands of Mexico
That’s why we call it faith,
that’s why we call him Lord,
that’s why I threw away
my Yankee sword.
Our John Riley seized the day
and marched us down the road,
and we wouldn’t slay our brothers,
on the sands of Mexico.
Faith and righteousness was all in vain,
Irish blood was spilled once again.
As I stand upon the gallows,
it cheers the soul to know
history will absolve us
on the sands of Mexico.
The sands of Mexico,
the bloody sands of Mexico!
La historia me absolverá
on the sands of Mexico
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