| Song | The Sands Of Mexico |
| Artist | Ry Cooder |
| Artist | The Chieftains |
| Album | San Patricio |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| The Sands of Mexico - Ry Cooder | |
| We went down to Churubusco, | |
| But the devil got there first; | |
| the road was hard, the way was long, | |
| Churubusco was far worse. | |
| Pressed in the Union Army | |
| and ordered off to go | |
| along the southern border | |
| to the sands of Mexico. | |
| Now we come from Cork and Kerry, | |
| that emerald world has past, | |
| My Mary would be pleased to know | |
| I'm a praying man at last! | |
| In this distressed country | |
| little comfort do we know; | |
| my Bible is my road map | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| When the road is cold up yonder, I'll be there, | |
| the boys will harmonize a lovely Irish air. | |
| Take a message to my Mary, | |
| she's the one that's true I know: | |
| when you saw me I had fallen | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| Now the army used us harshly, | |
| we were but trash to them, | |
| conscripted Irish farmers | |
| not first class soldier men. | |
| They beat us and they banged us, | |
| mistreated us, you know, | |
| but they couldn't make us killers, | |
| on the sands of Mexico | |
| That's why we call it faith, | |
| that's why we call him Lord, | |
| that's why I threw away | |
| my Yankee sword. | |
| Our John Riley seized the day | |
| and marched us down the road, | |
| and we wouldn't slay our brothers, | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| Faith and righteousness was all in vain, | |
| Irish blood was spilled once again. | |
| As I stand upon the gallows, | |
| it cheers the soul to know | |
| history will absolve us | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| The sands of Mexico, | |
| the bloody sands of Mexico! | |
| La historia me absolverá | |
| on the sands of Mexico. |
| The Sands of Mexico Ry Cooder | |
| We went down to Churubusco, | |
| But the devil got there first | |
| the road was hard, the way was long, | |
| Churubusco was far worse. | |
| Pressed in the Union Army | |
| and ordered off to go | |
| along the southern border | |
| to the sands of Mexico. | |
| Now we come from Cork and Kerry, | |
| that emerald world has past, | |
| My Mary would be pleased to know | |
| I' m a praying man at last! | |
| In this distressed country | |
| little comfort do we know | |
| my Bible is my road map | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| When the road is cold up yonder, I' ll be there, | |
| the boys will harmonize a lovely Irish air. | |
| Take a message to my Mary, | |
| she' s the one that' s true I know: | |
| when you saw me I had fallen | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| Now the army used us harshly, | |
| we were but trash to them, | |
| conscripted Irish farmers | |
| not first class soldier men. | |
| They beat us and they banged us, | |
| mistreated us, you know, | |
| but they couldn' t make us killers, | |
| on the sands of Mexico | |
| That' s why we call it faith, | |
| that' s why we call him Lord, | |
| that' s why I threw away | |
| my Yankee sword. | |
| Our John Riley seized the day | |
| and marched us down the road, | |
| and we wouldn' t slay our brothers, | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| Faith and righteousness was all in vain, | |
| Irish blood was spilled once again. | |
| As I stand upon the gallows, | |
| it cheers the soul to know | |
| history will absolve us | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| The sands of Mexico, | |
| the bloody sands of Mexico! | |
| La historia me absolvera | |
| on the sands of Mexico. |
| The Sands of Mexico Ry Cooder | |
| We went down to Churubusco, | |
| But the devil got there first | |
| the road was hard, the way was long, | |
| Churubusco was far worse. | |
| Pressed in the Union Army | |
| and ordered off to go | |
| along the southern border | |
| to the sands of Mexico. | |
| Now we come from Cork and Kerry, | |
| that emerald world has past, | |
| My Mary would be pleased to know | |
| I' m a praying man at last! | |
| In this distressed country | |
| little comfort do we know | |
| my Bible is my road map | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| When the road is cold up yonder, I' ll be there, | |
| the boys will harmonize a lovely Irish air. | |
| Take a message to my Mary, | |
| she' s the one that' s true I know: | |
| when you saw me I had fallen | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| Now the army used us harshly, | |
| we were but trash to them, | |
| conscripted Irish farmers | |
| not first class soldier men. | |
| They beat us and they banged us, | |
| mistreated us, you know, | |
| but they couldn' t make us killers, | |
| on the sands of Mexico | |
| That' s why we call it faith, | |
| that' s why we call him Lord, | |
| that' s why I threw away | |
| my Yankee sword. | |
| Our John Riley seized the day | |
| and marched us down the road, | |
| and we wouldn' t slay our brothers, | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| Faith and righteousness was all in vain, | |
| Irish blood was spilled once again. | |
| As I stand upon the gallows, | |
| it cheers the soul to know | |
| history will absolve us | |
| on the sands of Mexico. | |
| The sands of Mexico, | |
| the bloody sands of Mexico! | |
| La historia me absolverá | |
| on the sands of Mexico. |