Nothing Left

Follow Me Up To Carlow

Lift Mac Cahir Og your face, broodin' o'er the old disgrace
That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place and drove you to the fern
Gray said victory was sure, soon the firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach McHugh 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 go for, by the Lord
Fiach McHugh has given the word "Follow me up to Carlow"

See the swords at Glen Imaal, flashin' o'er the english pale
See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banner
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, flows a stream of Saxon gore
How great is Rory Og O'Moore at sending loons to Hades
White is sick, Gray is fled, now for black Fitzwilliam's head
We'll send it over, dripping red, to Liza and her ladies