Off Kilter Follow Me Up To Carlow
Lift Mac Cahir Og 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 Glanmalure
Feach Mac Hugh O’Byrne
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 upon an Irish rock
Fly up and teach him manners.
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 his word
Follow me up to Carlow.
From Tassagart to Clonmore,
Flows a stream of Saxon gore
Och, great is Rory Oge O’More,
At sending loons to Hades.
Whie is sick and Lane is fled,
Now for black Fitzwilliam’s head
We’ll send it over, dripping red,
To Liza and the ladies