(Trad.
Arr., Karan Casey/Caoimhín Vallely/Donald Shaw)
In the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety eight
A sorrowful tale the truth unto you I'll relate
Of thirty-six heroes to the world were left to be seen
By a false information were shot on Dunlavin Green
Bad luck to you Saunders, for you did their lives betray
You said a parade would be held on that very day
Our drums they did rattle - our fifes they did sweetly play
Surrounded we were and privately marched away
Quite easy they led us like prisoners through the town
To be shot on the plain, we first were forced to kneel down
Such grief and such sorrow were never before there seen
When the blood ran in streams down the dykes of Dunlavin Green
There is young Matty Farrell who has plenty of cause to complain
Likewise the two Duffys who were also shot down upon the plain
And young Andy Ryan, his mother distracted will run
For the loss of her darling, her only beloved son
Bad luck to you, Saunders, may bad luck never you shun!
That the widow's curse may melt you like the snow in the sun
The cries of the orphans their murmurs you cannot screen
For the murder of their fathers on Dunlavin Green
Some of our boys to the hills they are going away
Some of them are shot and some of them going to sea
Mickey Dwyer in the mountains to Saunders he owes a spleen
For loss of his brothers who were shot on Dunlavin Green
In the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety eight
A sorrowful tale the truth unto you I'll relate
Of thirty-six heroes to the world were left to be seen
By a false information were shot on Dunlavin Green
