The Bonny Bunch of Roses (The Murphys' Version)

By the margin of the ocean, one morning in the month of June,
The flowers they were blooming and the birds they sang their joyful tune;
There spoke a gracious lady, who seemed to be in grief and woe,
Conversing with young Bonaparte, concerning the bonny bunch of roses-o.

When up stepped young Napoleon, he took his mother by the hand,
Saying, ‘Mother, dear, have patience until I get orders to command;
I’ll raise the greatest army, and through tremendous danger go,
I’ll fight and conquer Russia then, return for the bonny bunch of roses-o.’

Well he raised three hundred thousand men, and he had kings to join the throne,
He was so well provided for he thought to sweep this world alone;
But when he came to Russia he was overpowered by the frost and snow,
While Moscow town guns were blazing, oh he lost the bonny bunch of roses-o.

‘Now son, don’t speak so venturesome, for England has a heart of stone,
There’s Ireland, England, and Scotland, and their unity will ne’er be broke;
And son, think on your father, on St Helena he lies low,
And you may follow after him, beware of the bonny bunch of roses-o.’

‘Now mother, dearest mother, now I am on my dying bed,
If I had lived I’d have conquered, but now I bow my youthful head;
And while my bones are mouldering, and the weeping willows o’er me grow,
And the deeds of young Napoleon will be sang o’er the bonny bunch of roses-o,
And the deeds of young Napoleon will be sang o’er the bonny bunch of roses-o.’