Lift mcCahir Og your face You're brooding over the old disgrace That Black Fitzwilliam stormed your place and sent you to the ferns Grey said victory was sure Soon the firebrand he'd secured Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne Curse and swear Lord Kildare Fiach will do what fiach will dare Now Fitzwilliam have a care Fallen is your star low Up with halberd our with sword On we go for by the Lord Fiach MacHugh has given the word Follow me up to Carlow.
See the swords of Glen Imaal Go flashing o'er the English pale See all the children on the Gael beneath O'Byrne's banner Rooster of the fighting stock Would you let a saxon co*k Crow out upon an Irish rock, fly up and teach him manners From Teach Sagard to Clonmore There flows a stream of Saxon gore And great is Rory Og O'More at sending the loons to hades White is sick and Grey has fled Now for Black Fitzwilliam's head We'll send it over dripping red to Liza and her ladies