They say we are "cut-throats" and "robbers,"
And would be worse if we could;
But it's false—we're noble-hearted patriots,
Here for our country's good,
And the honor came to us, you know:
We didn't go to it—
In other words, we were forced here
To "do" our little "bit."
Uncle Sam's domain has been ransacked
For men with blue-blooded veins,
For we don't want any persons here
With any mortal stains.
We are all old sons of Irish lords—
Or at least we'd like to be—
But instead we are only "cons," you know,
Doing time in the great "O. P."