Lift MacCahir Óg your face brooding o'er the old disgrace That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern Grey said victory was sure 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 halbert 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 Imayle, they're flashing o'er the English Pale See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners Rooster of a fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock Crow out upon an Irish rock? Fly up and teach him manners!
From Saggart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore O, great is Rory Óg O'More, at sending the loons to Hades. White is sick and Grey is fled, now for black Fitzwilliam's head We'll send it over dripping red, to Queen Liza and her ladies.