Lyrics:
Lift Mac Cahir Og your facebrooding o'er the old disgraceThat black Fitz-William stormed your placeAnd drove you to the fernGrey said victory was sureSoon the firebrand he'd secureUntil he met at Glen Malure FeachMac Hugh O'ByrneBut me I'm sick and tired of hateI'll never use a sword or bladeAnd when I hear the beating drumI'll sing a song of peaceMy hand be not a dashing fistWon't put my name on your listI'll try to safe my wife and childI'll run away to hideSay a foe is now bornTar and feather me with scornTake my handYou heaven-sentYou'll never get my soul thoughBury the hatchet, down the swordNo justification by the LordNo more feud, I'm tired of warNo following up to CarlowCan't stand the swords of GlenImale, flashing o'er the English PaleThe bleeding children of the GaelBeneath O'Byrne's bannersAll I see is bloody warAnd leaders who still cry for moreSheer madness on its marching feetThe lunacy of warHouses burnt, wasted landMore destruction in the endMen of hate, men of warFallen is your star, lowDown with halbert, down the swordNo more marching by the LordFeach Mac Hugh, I'm tired of warNo following up to CarlowThe marchin' feet they march no moreThey stand in front of Hades doorAll men are slain, the women rapedThe living mourn the deadThere is no use to foster hateThis is no way to change our fateWe'd rather change our attitudeThan sing these songs of war