words and music by Vic Michener and Rick Paul

They call on your pride and you ask them inside
And you’re quick to hand over your green
And when they shake your hand
You feel you’ve taken a stand
Though the Troubles you’ve never seen

But I wish you’d been there in this morning’s cold air
And stood by our sides in the rain
Looked into our faces
And tasted the tears
That we cried for what might have been

It took only two to carry her through
To the place where she’d stay from now on
And I wish you had seen
What they’d done with your green
Dug a hole in this Portadown lawn

And they bang the drums ever
You puff your pipe
Never knowing this dead March, this mock’ry of Spring
You sit in your study
With hands warm and bloody
And my angel lies there who’d ne’er hurt a thing
Just her memory remains in the Portadown Rain

And if you’d walked home with me
You’d have seen that old tree
And the tree house we’ll never complete
And then might a sigh
Have choked off those lies
That echo with history’s cheat

Oh, you don’t wear a beret
In the old IRA
Never marched in an Orange parade
But the money you send
Turns to blood in the end
And our tears in the Portadown rain

And they bang the drums ever
You puff your pipe
Never knowing this dead March, this mock’ry of Spring
And God help me for thinking
The thoughts that I’m thinking
But if I had my way you’d make the gallows rope sing
And I’d watch as you sway in the Portadown Rain

But they bang the drums ever
You puff your pipe
Never knowing this dead March, this mock’ry of Spring
And you sit in your study
With hands warm and bloody
While my angel lies there who’d ne’er hurt a thing
Just her memory remains in the Portadown Rain
Oh, her memory remains in the Portadown Rain