Roddy McCorley
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G C G - G C G G D7
G C G D7 - G G C G
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,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
Up the narrow street he stepped, 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,
And 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 stalwart earnest band.
for Antrim town! for Antrim town, he led them to the fray,
And 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 at the bridge of Toome today
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.
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