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