A great crowd had gathered outside of Kilmainham.
With their heads all uncovered, they knelt on the ground.
For inside that grim prison, lay a true Irish soldier.
His life for his country about to lay down.
He went to his death like a true son of Ireland.
The firing party, he bravely did face.
Then the order rang out, "Present arms and fire!"
James Connolly fell into a ready made grave.
The black flag was hoisted, the cruel deed was over.
Gone was the man who loved Ireland so well.
There was many's a sad heart in Dublin that morning.
When they murdered James Connolly, the Irish Rebel.
God's curse on your England, you cruel hearted monsters.
Your deeds they will shame all the devils in Hell.
There are no flowers blooming but the shamrock is growing.
On the grave of James Connolly, the Irish Rebel.
Many years have gone by, since the Irish Rebellion.
When the guns of Britannia, so loudly did speak.
When, the bold IRA, they stood shoulder to shoulder.
And the blood from their bodies flowed down Sackville Street.
