Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
We are all immigrants
We’re not indifferent
United, in destiny
In a foreign country
Lionel the lumberjack
Worked hard for the Hudson
So he’ll get out of wrack’
Used so much to fell stun
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
Drew has bourgeois habits
Hands soft as buttchick
Don’t show money I’ll grab it
Don’t be fool, he was a wick
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
Fillan was wisemen
He use to be a gunmen
But he found the ways
With wife for better days
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
Caolan wasn’t sweet
He was a fighting Irishmen
Facing anybody on the street
For a few dollars he’ll do it again
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
We are all immigrants
We’re not indifferent
United, in destiny
In a foreign country
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
We are all immigrants
We’re not indifferent
United, in destiny
In a foreign country
Lionel the lumberjack
Worked hard for the Hudson
So he’ll get out of wrack’
Used so much to fell stun
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
Drew has bourgeois habits
Hands soft as buttchick
Don’t show money I’ll grab it
Don’t be fool, he was a wick
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
Fillan was wisemen
He use to be a gunmen
But he found the ways
With wife for better days
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
Caolan wasn’t sweet
He was a fighting Irishmen
Facing anybody on the street
For a few dollars he’ll do it again
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
We are all immigrants
We’re not indifferent
United, in destiny
In a foreign country
Under the fleur de lys born
The red rose raised to be worn
The thistle is scratching our veins
And a clover is in our brains
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