(Terry Woods Ron Kavana)

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



Since Cromwell pushed us westward

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'll 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 know in song and story

His deeds are legends still

And murdered for blood money

Was young Ned of the hill



You have robbed our homes and fortunes

Even drove us from our land

You tried to break our spirit

But you'll never understand

The love of dear old Ireland

That will forge and iron will

As long as there are gallant men

Like young Ned of the hill