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.

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
Feach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow!

See the swords of Glen Imall, 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.

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
Feach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow!

From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of 
Saxon gore
Och, great is Rory Óg O'More, sending the loons to 
Hades.
White is sick, Grey is fled, now for black 
FitzWilliam's head
We'll send it over, dripping red, to Queen Liza and her 
ladies.

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
Feach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow!