Текст песни Young Ned Of The Hill - Live At The Olympia, Paris / 2012 - The Pogues

Have you ever walked the lonesome hills, heard the curlews cry
Seen the raven black as night upon a windswept sky?
To walk the purple heather and hear the west winds cry
To know that's where the rapparee must die

Yeah, since Cromwell pushed us westward to live our lowly lives
Some of us have come to fight from Tipperary mountains high
Men with wills of iron are not afraid to die
And will fight with Gaelic honor 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
Dispossessed and slaughtered, they put a price upon his head
His name is known in song and story, his deeds are legends still
Murdered for blood money was young Ned of the hill

Given up my home and fortune, drive me from me land
Never break our spirit but you'll never understand
The love of dear old Ireland that will forge an iron will
As long as there are gallant men like young Ned of the hill

A curse upon you, Oliver Cromwell, 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