Another Murphy Goes To War

I wrote this song as we approached the possibility of a new generation of soldiers fighting in Afghanistan. It isn’t so much a political statement as it is a warning against never ending conflict. The opening lines about being little lads pretending to be knights is a direct reference to my own childhood. Some of the kids I played those games with grew up and went to war for real. On a lighter note, the names of the protagonists brothers share the names with our friends in the Black Velvet Band. I thought it would be funny. You won’t see us perform this live all that much. It’s just too damn depressing.   – Whiplash

When we were little lads

With eyes so wide and bright

We’d swing ‘bout rods and sticks

With the thought of bein’ knights

Old men would sit and shake their heads

With concern they would declare

Me mates and I we fought like hell

So you’d never live that terror


A few year’s went on till the call came in

Bring out your stout and hearty

Me brother Dan he left our town

To join with his war party

Strong of calf and thick of chest

I thought I’d see him again

It wasn’t long till he lost his life

Tryin’ to save his men


Drums echo through the moirning

And rally the war cry

We gather up our rifles for to make new widows by

This is a tale as old as dust

Both sides have lost the score

Time to say good bye

Another Murphy goes to war


The girls all wept when Kevin went next

And sheared his amber locks

Some men from the south

Had to die for threatening our crops

He looked so bold and brave

In his livery of padded green

I often wondered when he died

How terribly did he scream


Where Dan and Kevin had once marched

Rob now took their place

You could see the lines of sorrow and fear

Etched upon his face

He promised to write on the day he left

Write to us he did

One blood stained letter sent by his mates

He’d written for his kin




I once was the youngest of a family so great

Eldest now am I and I’m off to war in haste

No son or daughter have I left

My line goes on no more

I’ll be goddamned if another Murphy

Ever goes to war


If only they had known the sickness of our land

They fought and died and shat and cried

Forced by phantom hands

Remember that you war to war a bit better the next attack

And even if you survived it doesn’t mean you made it back