John Riley

John Riley came from Galway town in the years of the Irish hunger
He sailed away to America when the country was much younger
Now the place was strange and work was scarce and all he knew was farming
So he followed all the other men to a job in the US Army.

Adventure calls and some men run, and this is their sad story
Some get drunk on demon rum, some get drunk on glory.

Now they marched down Texas way to the banks of the Rio Grande
They built a fort on the banks above to taunt old Santa Anna
They were treated bad, and paid worse, and then the fighting started
And the more they fought the less they thought of the damned old US Army.

Adventure calls and some men run, and this is their sad story
Some get drunk on demon rum, some get drunk on glory.

When the church bells rang on Sunday morn they set his soul a shiver
Saw the Señoritas wash their hair on the far side of the river
John Riley and two hundred more Irish mercenaries
They cast their lot, right or not, south of the Rio Grande
Now they fought brave under the flag of the San Patricios
Till the Yankee soldiers beat them down at the battle of Churubusco
And fifteen men were whipped like mules
On the cheeks they were hot iron branded
Made to dig the graves of fifty more, who a hanging fate had handed.

Adventure calls and some men run, and this is their sad story
Some get drunk on demon rum, some get drunk on glory.

John Riley stands and drinks alone in a bar in Vera Cruz
And he wonders if it matters much if you win or if you lose
"But I'm a man who can't go home, I'm a vagabond," says he
"I'm a victim of his wanderlust and divided loyalty".

Adventure calls and some men run, and this is their sad story
Some get drunk on demon rum, some get drunk on glory
Adventure calls and some men run, and this is their sad story
Some get drunk on demon rum, some get drunk on demon rum
Some get drunk on demon rum and some get drunk on glory.