The land won't be worked
No matter how hard you toil
You can break your back
But there's poison in the soil
How can we exist
On vegetables and bread
When the blight
Has caused them to spoil?
So sail me away on a Coffin Ship
What choice do we have left?
But to stay here and scratch
And scrape and dig
And succumb to a starving death
Is America so far away
Or really that bad?
When we've lost a quarter
Of the people from this land
Emigration for survival
Emigration to eat
Or be touched by the reaper's hand
The landlords are absent
The landlords are sharks
They take the rents
And leave us in the dark
The only thing that grows
In this soil, potatoes
Is a wage that is tied to our hearts
So sail me away on a Coffin Ship
What choice do we have left?
The British have taken everything
And now we've got nothing left
So sail me away on a Coffin Ship
What choice do we have left?
The British have taken everything
And now we've got fuck all left
