Lift Mac Cahir Óg your face, brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black FitzWilliam stormed your place, and drove you to the fern
Grey said victory was sure, soon the firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at Glenmalure: Feach Mac Hugh O'Byrne! 

Chorus_

Curse and swear, Lord Kildare
Feach will do what Feach will dare
Now FitzWilliam, have a care!
Fallen is your star, low!
Up with halbert, out with sword!
On we go, for, by the Lord,
Feach Mac Hugh has given the word
Follow me up to Carlow

See the swords of Glen Imayle, flashing o'er the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael beneath O'Byrne's banners
Rooster of the fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock? Fly up and teach him manners

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

Song written by Patrick Joseph McCall