| Lift, McCahir Og, your face | |
| Still brooding over the old disgrace? | |
| That Black Fitzwilliam stormed your place | |
| Drove you to the Fern | |
| Gray said victory was sure | |
| And 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 | |
| Fiach MacHugh has given the word | |
| Follow me up to Carlow | |
| See the swords of Glen Imayle | |
| They're flashing over the English pale | |
| See all the children of the Gael | |
| Beneath O'Byrne's banners | |
| Roosters of the 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 | |
| Fiach MacHugh has given the word | |
| Follow me up to Carlow | |
| From Tassagart to Clonmore | |
| There flows a stream of Saxon gore | |
| O great is Rory Og Omore | |
| At sending the loons to Hades | |
| White is sick, Grey is fled | |
| And now for Black Fitzwilliams 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 | |
| Fiach MacHugh has given the word | |
| Follow me up to Carlow |
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