Brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black Fitz-William stormed your place
And drove you to the fern
Grey said victory was sure
Soon the firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at Glen Malure Feach
Mac Hugh O'Byrne
But me I'm sick and tired of hate
I'll never use a sword or blade
And when I hear the beating drum
I'll sing a song of peace
My hand be not a dashing fist
Won't put my name on your list
I'll try to safe my wife and child
I'll run away to hide
Say a foe is now born
Tar and feather me with scorn
Take my hand
You heaven-sent
You'll never get my soul though
Bury the hatchet, down the sword
No justification by the Lord
No more feud, I'm tired of war
No following up to Carlow
Can't stand the swords of Glen
Imale, flashing o'er the English Pale
The bleeding children of the Gael
Beneath O'Byrne's banners
All I see is bloody war
And leaders who still cry for more
Sheer madness on it's marching feet
The lunacy of war
Houses burnt, wasted land
More destruction in the end
Men of hate, men of war
Fallen is your star, low
Down with halbert, down the sword
No more marching by the Lord
Feach Mac Hugh, I'm tired of war
No following up to Carlow
The marchin' feet they march no more
They stand in front of Hades door
All men are slain, the women raped
The living mourn the dead
There is no use to foster hate
This is no way to change our fate
We'd rather change our attitude
Than sing these songs of war
Lift Mac Cahir Og your face Brooding o'er the old disgrace That black Fitz-William stormed your place And drove you to the fern Grey said victory was sure Soon the firebrand he'd secure Until he met at Glen Malure Feach Mac Hugh O'Byrne But me I'm sick and tired of hate I'll never use a sword or blade And when I hear the beating drum I'll sing a song of peace My hand be not a dashing fist Won't put my name on your list I'll try to safe my wife and child I'll run away to hide Say a foe is now born Tar and feather me with scorn Take my hand You heaven-sent You'll never get my soul though Bury the hatchet, down the sword No justification by the Lord No more feud, I'm tired of war No following up to Carlow Can't stand the swords of Glen Imale, flashing o'er the English Pale The bleeding children of the Gael Beneath O'Byrne's banners All I see is bloody war And leaders who still cry for more Sheer madness on it's marching feet The lunacy of war Houses burnt, wasted land More destruction in the end Men of hate, men of war Fallen is your star, low Down with halbert, down the sword No more marching by the Lord Feach Mac Hugh, I'm tired of war No following up to Carlow The marchin' feet they march no more They stand in front of Hades door All men are slain, the women raped The living mourn the dead There is no use to foster hate This is no way to change our fate We'd rather change our attitude Than sing these songs of war Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
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