RODDY MCCORLEY
(Words by Ethna Carberry; music traditional)

O see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn,
From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Ban;
They come with vengeance in their eyes Too late! Too late are
they,
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome
today

Up the narrow street he stepped, so smiling, proud and young
About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung;
There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, fearless and brave are
they,
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome
today

When last this narrow street he trod, his shining pike in hand
Behind him marched, in grim array, a earnest stalwart band
To Antrim town! To Antrim town, he led them to the fray,
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today

There's never a one of all your dead more bravely died in fray
Than he who marches to his fate in Toomebridge town today; ray
True to the last! True to the last, he treads the upwards way,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today

Recorded by Kingston Trio, Clancys
@Irish @rebellion @death @war @death @war
filename[ RMCORLEY
playexe RMCORLEY
RG
===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY