The Marching Band Tradition
The bandsmen marching every where
their followers watch from their sun burnt chairs
The children wait for the thundering drums,
but nationalist pass by one by one, and stare
♞♜♝
Uniformed men stand tall and proud
crisply dressed in the golden light, a family tradition
Their feet pace down the many streets,
kept in step with the music beat, to a local composition
♞♜♝
Their fathers they would make so proud
as they play their fife and pipes aloud,
their pitch abounding
♞♜♝
A mother in her uniform slacks,
their pleats so sharp both front and back
her heart is pounding
♞♜♝
This day her motherhood takes a step back
her hands beat the drum in deep loud cracks
blood and thunder sounding
♞♜♝
The colourful flags and banners sway
their sash emblazoned in a traditional way
under they heat are floundering
♞♜♝
When they march
they are proud to be
… bands men and women
not the bigots we see
it is their culture
♞♜♝
Their heads held high for all to see
their children dream, oh to be,
in their footsteps,
family band members of the future
♞♜♝
They don’t kick the pope
or the Catholic throne
their only joy
is being left alone
with their music
♞♜♝
Some day the parades will coincide
where they can both march in unison side by side
with their love
… the music tradition
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