Birmingham Six

There were six men in Birmingham

In Guildford there's four

That were picked up and tortured

And framed by the law

And the filth got promotion

But they're still doing time

For being Irish in the wrong place

And at the wrong time

In Ireland they'll put you away in the Maze

In England they'll keep you for several long days

God help you if ever you're caught on these shores

And the coppers need someone

And they walk through that door

You'll be counting years

First five, then ten

Growing old in a lonely hell

Round the yard and the stinking cell

From wall to wall, and back again

A curse on the judges, the coppers and screws

Who tortured the innocent, wrongly accused,

For the price of promotion

And justice to sell

May the judged be their judges when they rot down in hell

May the whores of the empire lie awake in their beds

And sweat as they count out the sins on their heads

While over in Ireland eight more men lie dead

Kicked down and shot in the back of the head