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 cock    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