Have you ever walked the lonesome hills   And heard the curlews cry   Or seen the raven black as night   Upon a windswept sky   To walk the purple heather   And hear the westwind cry   To know that's where the rapparee must die      Since Cromwell pushed us westward   To live our lowly lives   There's some of us have deemed to fight   From Tipperary mountains high   Noble men with wills of iron   Who are not afraid to die   Who'll fight with gaelic honour held on high      A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell   You who raped our Motherland   I hope you're rotting down in hell   For the horrors that you sent   To our misfortunate forefathers   Whom you robbed of their birthright   "To hell or Connaught" may you burn in hell tonight      Of one such man I'd like to speak   A rapparee by name and deed   His family dispossessed and slaughtered   They put a price upon his head   His name is known in song and story   His deeds are legends still   And murdered for blood money   Was young Ned of the hill      You have robbed our homes and fortunes   Even drove us from our land   You tried to break our spirit   But you'll never understand   The love of dear old Ireland   That will forge an iron will   As long as there are gallant men   Like young Ned of the hill      A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell   You who raped our Motherland   I hope you're rotting down in hell   For the horrors that you sent   To our misfortunate forefathers   Whom you robbed of their birthright   "To hell or Connaught" may you burn in hell tonight