Up The Provos

He grew up on a farm in a troubled Irish land

Under foreign rule and the British Crown’s command

His father fought for Ireland fifty years before

But the Free State cut their losses and the English won the war

And when internment without trial was the order of the day

When his brother was arrested and his friends were blown away

When he was beaten near to death he decided come what may

He’d throw his lot in with the Provos and he joined the IRA

In the Occupied Six Counties perhaps it never will be known

All the foreign soldiers in Armagh and Tyrone

Who decided to head back across the Irish Sea

So they wouldn’t have to meet the man from south of Derry

He never wavered in his battle for Irish liberty

And the Crown would soon regret the day they made him their enemy

The Brits called it bandit country and it filled them all with fright

In the border lands, he who walked the hills at night

Up the Provos — that’s what he said

Three little words that filled the British Crown with dread

With a rifle on his shoulder, a timer and a fuse

Long may we remember Commandante Francis Hughes

Once he was surrounded by the SAS

How he might escape was anybody’s guess

In his boots and camouflage he didn’t miss a beat

He walked right past the soldiers and out into the street

Once he came upon a checkpoint, the soldier didn’t want to die

He recognized our Francis and the soldier waved him by

He didn’t want to find out if he could take what he could give

He knew there’d be a shootout and the soldier chose to live

Up the Provos that’s what he said

And from this farmer’s son better men had fled

With a rifle on his shoulder, a timer and a fuse

Long may we remember Commandante Francis Hughes

He was the North’s most wanted man with his photo everywhere

But he eluded capture with his wit and dyed blond hair

For six years he was active, three times as long as most

He became a legend, north to south and coast to coast

He came upon two soldiers out one night on patrol

They shot him in the firefight and the bullets took their toll

He crawled off into the bushes but they found him the next day

Put him on a stretcher and they carried him away

Up the Provos that’s what he said

With a shattered bone and a body full of lead

With a rifle on his shoulder, a timer and a fuse

Long may we remember Commandante Francis Hughes

They beat him and they tortured him and they gave him eighty years

When they brought him to the H-Blocks he was greeted there with cheers

He went right onto the blanket and when the hunger strike began

He was the first to volunteer along with Bobby Sands

He was an Irish soldier and that’s how he did his time

He knew he was no criminal when occupation was the crime

Bobby Sands had passed beyond us, where Francis soon would be

And although he couldn’t stand and he could barely see

Up the Provos that’s what he said

As they carried him to hospital to lay in his death bed

With a rifle on his shoulder, a timer and a fuse

Long may we remember Commandante Francis Hughes