Lift McCahir Og your face,nStill brooding over the old disgrace?nThat Black Fitzwilliam stormed your place,nDrove you to the Fern.nGray said victory was sure,nAnd soon the Firebrand he'd secure.nUntil he met, at Glenmalure,nWith Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.nnCurse and swear, Lord Kildare,nFiach will do, what Fiach will dare,nNow Fitzwilliam have a care,nFallen is your star low,nUp with halberd, out with sword,nOn we'll go for by the lord,nFiach MacHugh has given the word,nFollow me up to Carlow.nnSee the swords of Glen Imayle,nThey're flashing over the English pale.nSee all the children of the Gael,nBeneath O'Byrne's banners.nRoosters of the fighting stock,nWould you let a Saxon cock,nCrow out upon, an Irish rock?nFly up and teach him manners.nnCurse and swear, Lord Kildare,nFiach will do, what Fiach will dare,nNow Fitzwilliam have a care,nFallen is your star low,nUp with halberd, out with sword,nOn we'll go for by the lord,nFiach MacHugh has given the word,nFollow me up to Carlow.nnFrom Tassagart to Clonmore,nThere flows a stream of Saxon gore,nO great is Rory Og OmorenAt sending the loons to Hades.nWhite is sick, Grey is fled,nAnd now for Black Fitzwilliams head,nWe'll send it over dripping red,nTo Queen Liza and her ladies.nnCurse and swear, Lord Kildare,nFiach will do, what Fiach will dare,nNow Fitzwilliam have a care,nFallen is your star low,nUp with halberd, out with sword,nOn we'll go for by the lord,nFiach MacHugh has given the word,nFollow me up to Carlow.