Lift, MacCahir Óg, your face. You're brooding o'er the old disgrace That black FitzWilliam stormed your place and drove you to the Ferns Grey said victory was sure and soon the firebrand he'd secure Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.
Chorus; 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 out with sword On we'll go for by the lord Fiach MacHugh has given the word, Follow me up to Carlow!
See the swords of Glen Imall; they're flashing o'er the English Pale See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banner Rooster of the fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock Crow out upon an Irish rock- fly up and teach him manners.
Chorus;
From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore But great is Rory Óg O'More at sending loons to Hades. White is sick and Lane is fled and now for black FitzWilliam's head We'll send it over, dripping red, to Liza and her ladies.