Paddy and the rats - Immigrant`s Sons We drink, we fight, we do our best when we get tight We drink, we fight, if you drove us wild Why don’t you slip away and your lives will be spared If you stand in way of immigrant’s sons we’ll put you into hell Daddy died of hunger when the famine’s broken out Mother took me and me brother, we left our lovely town A long and weary journey across the stormy sea We landed at the Boston bay and moved in Mom became a washerwoman for a rich man’s house Brother and me carried coal in the local mine Irish people stick together, we met them for a pint We played a jigg and danced together all night We’re proud ’cause our Irish gang is the toughest out of all Watch your step in our district ’cause we stick you to the wall No problem for us to beat you, we go to see the priest In God’s name he can absolve us from our sins March 17 and we all meet at MacNamara’s place Celebrating Éire and St. Patrick’s Day The fiddle plays some good old songs that came over the sea We keep the way our traditions must be