Follow Me up to Carlow

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.

Chorus;
 * 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 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!''.

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 and Lane is fled, now for black FitzWilliam's head, We'll send it over, dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.