The Marching Song of Fiach Mac Hugh

Lift MacCahir Og 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 Glenmaiure
With Fiach Mac Hugh 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
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 Saggart to Clonmore
There flows a stream of Saxon gore
O great is Rory Og 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