Letra I won't follow you up to carlow Fiddler's Green

I won't follow you up to carlow

Lift
Mac
Cahir
Og your face brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black
Fitz-William stormed your place
And drove you to the fern
Grey said victory was sure
Soon the firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at
Glen
Malure
Feach
Mac
Hugh
O'Byrne
But me
I'm sick and tired of hate
I'll never use a sword or blade
And when
I hear the beating drum
I'll sing a song of peace
My hand be not a dashing fist
Won't put my name on your list
I'll try to safe my wife and child
I'll run away to hide
Say a foe is now born
Tar and feather me with scorn
Take my hand
You heaven-sent
You'll never get my soul though
Bury the hatchet, down the sword
No justification by the
Lord
No more feud,
I'm tired of war
No following up to
Carlow
Can't stand the swords of
Glen
Imale, flashing o'er the
English
Pale
The bleeding children of the
Gael
Beneath
O'Byrne's banners
All
I see is bloody war
And leaders who still cry for more
Sheer madness on its marching feet
The lunacy of war
Houses burnt, wasted land
More destruction in the end
Men of hate, men of war
Fallen is your star, low
Down with halbert, down the sword
No more marching by the
Lord
Feach
Mac
Hugh,
I'm tired of war
No following up to
Carlow
The marchin' feet they march no more
They stand in front of
Hades door
All men are slain, the women raped
The living mourn the dead
There is no use to foster hate
This is no way to change our fate
We'd rather change our attitude
Than sing these songs of war