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