In the year of one thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight
A sorrowful tale, the truth unto you I'll relate
Thirty-six heroes to the world they 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 same 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 the 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 shot down upon the plain
Young Andy Ryan, his mother distracted will run
For the loss of her darling, her only beloved son

Some of our boys to the hills, they are going away
Some of them shot and more of them going to sea
Michael Dwyer in the mountains to Saunders, he owes a spleen
For loss of his brothers who were shot on Dunlavin Green

Bad luck to you, Saunders, bad luck may you never shun
May the widow's curse melt you like snow in the noonday sun
Cries of the orphans, their murmurs you cannot screen
For the loss of their fathers who were shot on Dunlavin Green

In the year of one thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight
A sorrowful tale, the truth unto you I'll relate
Thirty-six heroes to the world they were left to be seen
By a false information were shot on Dunlavin Green
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