The mess is tent is full and the glasses are set
And the gallant Count Thomond is president yet
The veterans arose like an uplifted lance
Crying "Comrades, a health to the monarch of France!"
With a thunderous cheer now, they did as their bade
For King Louis is loved by the Irish Brigade

A health to King James and to Sarsfield's wise craft
"Here's to George the elector!" and fiercely they laughed
Good luck to the girls we wooed long ago
Where the Shannon and Barrow and black waters flow
You would think in old Ireland that they were afraid
But in battle there's none like the Irish Brigade

But surely that light does not come from a lamp
And the boys, they are all singing songs round the camp
Hurrah, boys, the morning of battle has come
And the generals beating on many a drum
They rushed from the revel to join the parade
For the sword is the light of the Irish Brigade

They fought as they reveled, just fiery and true
And the victors, they left on the field of the few
And they who survived fought and drank as before
For the land of their hearts' hope they never saw more
In far foreign fields from Dunkirk to Belgrade
Lay the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade
In far foreign fields from Dunkirk to Belgrade
Lay the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade