May the God above Send down a dove With teeth as sharp as razors To slit the throat Of the English dogs That hanged our Irish leaders.

The rope noose round his neck, gripes in his issuing bowels with both hands.

I bear no hate to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the king.

Horhot ho hray ho rhother’s hest

Dances slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket and sings with soft contentment.

On coronation day, on coronation day, O, won’t we have a merry time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine!

The harlot’s cry from street to street Shall weave old Ireland’s windingsheet.