Young Ned of the Hill

Have you ever walked the lonesome hills And heard the curlews cry? Or seen the raven black as night upon a windswept sky? To walk the purple heather and hear the westwind cry To know that's where the rapparee must die Yet since Cromwell pushed us westward To live our lowly lives Some of us have deemed to fight From Tipperary Mountains high Noble men with wills of iron who are not afraid to die And will fight with Gaelic honour held on high A curse upon you, Oliver Cromwell You who raped our motherland I hope you're rotting 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 Of one such man I'd like to speak A rapparee by name and deed His family dispossessed and slaughtered They put a price upon his head His name is known in song and story And his deeds are legends still And murdered for blood money Was young Ned of the hill When you have robbed our homes and fortunes Even drove us from our land Yours tried to break our spirit, but you'll never understand The love of dear old Ireland that will forge an iron will As long as there are gallant men like young Ned of the hill A curse upon you, Oliver Cromwell You who raped our motherland I hope you're rotting 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