> Folk Music > Songs > Do Me Justice

Do Me Justice / Let Them Come to Ireland / Here I Am From Donegal

[ Roud 2969 ; Ballad Index RcDoMeJu ; Mudcat 2337 ; trad.]

Eddie Butcher of Magilligan, Co. Derry sang Let Them Come to Ireland on his 1976 Free-Reed album I Once Was a Daysman. Graeme Kirkham noted:

The stage Irishman—a roguish but harmless buffoon—has been a familiar figure in literature and popular culture for several hundred years—‘Irish’ as a derogatory term has been used since the 17^th century and the current crop of Irish jokes is nothing new. This ‘protest song’ seems to have been conceived particularly as a reply to the type of ‘Paddy-parody’ found so often in Punch, for example, at the end of the nineteenth century. It was originally sold on a Dublin ballad-sheet: ‘A much admired song entitled How Pat is represented’, some time between 1860-1885.

Len Graham sang Do Me Justice in 1983 as the title track of his Claddagh album Do Me Justice. He noted:

In the mid-nineteenth century there was a gradual, but unmistakable transformation in the caricatures of Irish faces which appeared in such satirical magazines in England as Punch, The Tomahawk and Judy, and in the USA as Puck, Harper’s Weekly and Judge. In such publications Irish men and women were illustrated as dangerous anthropoids or apes. The poet JK Lavater had this to say:

Those who wish to degrade man to beast
caricature him to the rank of the orang outang;
and, in idea, raise the orang outang
to the rank of man.

The nineteenth century ballad I sing here is a direct reply to such attitudes. I learned this from Eddie Butcher and acquired verse two and some additional words from a ballad-sheet in the collection of the National Library of Ireland.

Frank Harte sang Here I Am From Donegal in 1987 on his Faetain album Daybreak and a Candle-End. He noted:

The ‘Irish Joke’ or as it should be more correctly called the ‘Anti-Irish Joke’ is nothing new to us. In the last century Punch magazine was quite expert at depicting the Irishman with ape-like features menacing a benevolent, clean, upstanding and proud Britannia. There are many ballads telling of the prejudice and difficulties which the Irish labourer encountered in his search for work in England during the last century. These ballads relate in true partisan fashion how Paddy cleverly turns the tables on the over-smart Englishman as in Campbell the Drover or The Waterford Boys. When the subtle approach fails, however, Paddy is never slow to resort to a physical solution to obtain fair play for himself or his friends as in Erin-Go-Bragh.

The reality however is that the Irish have been forced to live for far too long with the anti-Irish prejudice of intellectuals such as English comedians. These idiots are encouraged by an audience which should know better, and are reinforced by Irish idiots who make a living by parodying their own people for the amusement of others. Isn’t it interesting to see how little attitudes have changed or our understanding of each other has increased in the last hundred years or so? I first heard this song sung by Eddie Butcher from Magilligan, County Derry.

Roisín White sang Do Me Justice on her 1992 Veteran Tapes cassette The First of My Rambles.

Lyrics

Len Graham sings Do Me Justice

O here I am from Donegal, I feel quite discontented
I o hear the way that we’re run down, not fairly represented;
For they say it is a general rule, to make out Pat a knave or fool;
But never mind, we’ll play it cool and speak up for old Ireland.

Chorus (after each verse):
Do me justice, treat me fair, and I won’t be discontented,
Nor I won’t he laughed at anywhere, hut fairly represented.

There’s Mr Punch with his literature, he tries to hurt us sadly.
Whene’er he draws our caricature, he depicts us rather badly;
With crooked limbs and villainous face, he represents the Irish race.
I’m sure it is a great disgrace, we think so in old Ireland.

When on the stage I do appear, with a thundering big shillelagh,
With tattered hat and ragged coat, you’d think I’d step out gaily.
With not a word of common sense, they don’t know when they give offence
But carry on at Pat’s expense: just let them come to Ireland.

They say we’re lazy and dirty got, but what’s the use to grumble,
For when they enter our Irish cot, they’re welcome though it’s humble.
In public works, the country round, or where hard work is to be found,
In a railway tunnel underground, you ’ll find the boys from Ireland.

It’s very true I like a glass, it makes my heart feel frisky.
And I’m very fond of an Irish lass and partial to the whiskey.
I’m very quiet when left alone, I do what I like with what ’s my own,
But woe be to the foes, ochone, who dear run down old Ireland.

Frank Harte sings Here I Am From Donegal

O here I am from Donegal
I feel quite discontented
For to see the way that we’re run down
Not highly represented
For to see it is a general rule
To make auld Pat a knave or fool
But never mind he’ll play it cool
And stand up for old Ireland

Chorus (after each verse):
Do me justice, treat me fair
And I won’t be discontented
But I won’t be laughed at anywhere
But highly represented

Now Mr. Punch with his literature
He treats us very badly
And when he draws our caricature
He depicts us rather sadly
With crooked limbs and villainous face
He thus depicts the Irish race
We think it is a sad disgrace
And we say so in old Ireland

When on the stage I do appear
With a thunderin’ big shillelagh
With a ragged coat and a tattered hat
You’d think I’d come out gaily
With not a word of common sense
They don’t know when they give offence
But carry on at Pat’s expense
Why don’t they come to Ireland

They say we are dirty and lazy got
But where’s the use to grumble
And if they visit an Irish cot
They’re made welcome though ’tis humble
But in public works the country round
Or where hard work it is to be found
In the railway tunnels underground
You’ll find the boys from Ireland

’Tis very true I like a glass
It makes me feel quite frisky
I am very fond of an Irish lass
But I’m partial to the whiskey
I am very quiet when left alone
But I do what I like with what’s my own
And woe be to the foes of home
Who would dare run down old Ireland