In Flanders fields the poppies grow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, The larks, still bravely singing, fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below.

O Paddy dear, an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground!
No more St. Patrick’s Day we’ll keep, his color can’t be seen,
For there’s a cruel law agin the wearin’ o’ the Green!

For they’re hangin’ men an’ women there for wearin’ o’ the Green.

Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here. This is the War Room!

No taxation without representation.