(Terry Woods / Ron Kavana)
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Have you ever walked the lonesome hills
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And heard the curlews cry
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Or seen the raven black as night
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Upon a windswept sky
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To walk the purple heather
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And hear the westwind cry
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To know that's where the rapparee must die
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Since Cromwell pushed us westward
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To live our lowly lives
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There's some of us have deemed to fight
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From Tipperary mountains high
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Noble men with wills of iron
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Who are not afraid to die
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Who'll fight with gaelic honour held on high
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A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell
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You who raped our Motherland
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I hope you're rotting down in hell
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For the horrors that you sent
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To our misfortunate forefathers
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Whom you robbed of their birthright
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"To hell or Connaught" may you burn in hell tonight
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Of one such man I'd like to speak
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A rapparee by name and deed
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His family dispossessed and slaughtered
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They put a price upon his head
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His name is know in song and story
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His deeds are legends still
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And murdered for blood money
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Was young Ned of the hill
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You have robbed our homes and fortunes
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Even drove us from our land
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You tried to break our spirit
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But you'll never understand
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The love of dear old Ireland
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That will forge and iron will
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As long as there are gallant men
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Like young Ned of the hill
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-----------------
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Young Ned Of The Hill
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| The Pogues |
