Young Ned Of The Hill (R. Kavana & T. Woods )

 

Have you ever walked the lonesome hills and heard the curlew's cry
   Or seen the raven black as night upon a windswept sky?
   To walk the purple heather and to hear the west wind cry
   To know that's where the rapparee must die...

Since Cromwell pushed us westward for to live our lowly lives
There's some of us have deemed to fight from Tipperary mountains high
Noble men with wills of iron, who are not afraid to die
Who will fight with Gaelic honour held on high.
Of one such man I'd like to speak, a rapparee by name and deed,
His family dispossessed and slaughtered, swore to fight the British breed,
His name is known in song and story and his deeds are legend still
I'll tell you now the sorry fate of Eamon Of The Hill.

Chorus:  You may rob our house and fortune, even drive us from the land
              But you'll never break our spirit 'cos you'll never understand
              The love of dear old Ireland that can forge an iron will
              As long as there are gallant men like Young Ned Of The Hill.

A scourge to the redcoat soldiers with a price upon his head
To tempt a weaker soul to tell where he kept his bed.
One night as he lay sleepin' - his head beside his sword -
Murdered by his cousin Dwyer to claim a coward's reward.
The day after O'Dwyer had murdered Young Ned in his bed
He went for his blood money but was jailed himself instead
For Ned he had been pardoned the very day before
And a noose upon the gallows was O'Dwyer's just reward.

A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell, you who raped our motherland,
I hope you're rottin' down in hell for the horrors that you sent
To our misfortunate forefathers whom you robbed of their birthright
"To Hell Or Connaught?", may you burn in hell tonight.