Young Ned Of The Hill Lyrics

(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                                                       
                                                                                
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                             
                                                                                
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