PATRICK IS MY NAME by Randall Stephen Hall

By Jude Collins on August 8, 2014

Patrick is my name.

I am from far away.

Brought here as a slave

For a price I cannot pay.

But I will not bow down
And worship at your throne.
For I have just one king.

And he’s calling me to go.

Patrick is my name.
I’m working on your roads.
Beneath these wheels of industry

There are no streets of gold.

But I will lift my head
And look upon your stars.
The gutter’s calling me

To go and have some jars.

Chorus.

Oh Paddy’s on the railways.
Oh Paddy’s on the run.
Poor Patrick’s gone and left us now

To go and seek the gold of the western sun.

So set me up a pint or two,
Some whiskey and some stout.
For Patrick is my name you know,
And I’ll not be put out.

But I will raise my head
And sing old Ireland’s ways.
For Patrick is my name,

And my hope’s for better days.

Black stranger to America

You brought me here in chains.

You almost stole my soul away,

So I will take your name.

For Patrick’s a proud name for slaves
Down history’s lonely streets.
Sugar cane and cotton docks
And rocks beneath my feet.

Chorus.

End . . .