Song parody of
The Hardest Mile
by Dropkick Murphys
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I'm heading for a life in the land of the free
Sending every penny home to the family
Off to find fortunes that can't be bought
Now Paddy's struck down from a single shot
Paddy's struck down from a single shot!
They lured the men away
They promised wealth and riches
A thousand miles from home
Lying steel and digging ditches
The work would be a challenge
Nary a soul could stand the trial
These wayfaring boys built the railways toughest mile
Fifty-seven men on the hardest mile!
Fifty-seven men on the hardest mile
Murdered for their troubles, left to die
Immigrant sons from Donegal, Tyrone & Derry
Their numbers were few but they did the job of many
Eight weeks went by and the path was clear
Fifty-seven men had all disappeared
Not a mention of their name
No stone was ever turned
It would be so many years
Before the truth was ever learned
Fifty-seven men on the hardest mile
Murdered for their troubles, left to die
Immigrant sons from Donegal, Tyrone & Derry
Their numbers were few but they did the job of many#
Now ghosts dance a jig on an unmarked grave
A slug full of lead was the price they were paid
Vigilante justice, prejudice and pride
No one in this valley
Will be seen again alive
Fifty-seven men on the hardest mile
Murdered for their troubles, left to die
Immigrant sons from Donegal, Tyrone & Derry
Their numbers were few but they did the job of many
I'm heading for a life in the land of the free
Sending every penny home to the family
Off to find fortunes that can't be bought
Now Paddy's struck down from a single shot
Paddy's struck down from a single shot!
They lured the men away
They promised wealth and riches
A thousand miles from home
Lying steel and digging ditches
The work would be a challenge
Nary a soul could stand the trial
These wayfaring boys built the railways toughest mile
Fifty-seven men on the hardest mile!
Fifty-seven men on the hardest mile
Murdered for their troubles, left to die
Immigrant sons from Donegal, Tyrone & Derry
Their numbers were few but they did the job of many
Eight weeks went by and the path was clear
Fifty-seven men had all disappeared
Not a mention of their name
No stone was ever turned
It would be so many years
Before the truth was ever learned
Fifty-seven men on the hardest mile
Murdered for their troubles, left to die
Immigrant sons from Donegal, Tyrone & Derry
Their numbers were few but they did the job of many#
Now ghosts dance a jig on an unmarked grave
A slug full of lead was the price they were paid
Vigilante justice, prejudice and pride
No one in this valley
Will be seen again alive
Fifty-seven men on the hardest mile
Murdered for their troubles, left to die
Immigrant sons from Donegal, Tyrone & Derry
Their numbers were few but they did the job of many
