Résistant gaélique [English translation]

Old Europe, don't you hear the call from your brothers

And the disarray reigning over Ireland,

Emerald land snuggling up against lakes and rivers,

Where a distress wind is blowing over the moor.

Bravely refusing a grovelling future,

This little area of the continent is surviving through poverty ;

Terror and Death are soaring among this island

And don't make the actors of this war move back.

Into the empty alleys of Belfast's suburbs,

Kids in rags, eyes full of hate

Are standing in front of soldier, their weapons are a true contrast

With the pebbles of these young rebellious hanging around.

Next to a big celtic gross in granite,

A poor guy is falling apart - The Death just took him.

And into the catholic working-class neighbourhood

The breeze coming from the sea is carrying gunpowder smell

Free Ireland !

When you'll beat (them), Gaelic resistant fighter

When your fighters will take off their black balaclavas,

May we see the St-Patrick's day, at last !

And raise our beer without thinking about the running blood

And raise our beer without thinking about the running blood