Young Ned of the Hill --- T. Woods/R. Ravana
(moderate)
[Am]Have you [Dm]ever walked the [Am]lonesome hill or [Dm]heard the curlew’s [Am]cry?
Or [Dm]seen the raven [Am]black as night, up [Dm]on the windswept sky?
To walk the purple [Am]heather and [F]hear the weat wind [C]cry?
To [Dm]know that’s where the [Am]raparee must [Dm]die?
[riff]
[riff -- with increasing tempo]
(energetically)
Since [Dm]Cromwell pushed us [Am]westward to [Dm]live our lowly [Am]lives,
[Dm]Some of us have [Am]deemed to fight from Tipper-[Dm]ary mountains high.
Noble men with [Am]wills of iron who are [F]not afraid to [C]die.
Who’ll [Dm]fight with Gaelic [Am]honour held on [Dm]high.
A [Dm]curse upon you Oliver [Am]Cromwell; you [Dm]raped our mother-[Am]land.
I [Dm]hope you’re rottin’ [Am]down in Hell for the [Dm]horrors that you sent
To our misfortunate fore-[Am]fathers whom you [F]robbed of their birth-[C]right.
“To Hell or to [Dm]Connaught” – may you [Am]burn in Hell to-[Dm]night.
[riff]
Of [Dm]such a man I’d [Am]like to speak, a [Dm]raparee by [Am]name and deed.
His [Dm]family dispos- [Am]sessed and slaughtered --- a [Dm]price upon his head.
He’s known in song and [Am]story, his [F]deeds are legend [C]still.
And [Dm]murdered for blood [Am]money was the [Dm]Young Ned [Am]of the [Dm]Hill.
You [Dm]robbed our homes and [Am]fortunes, even [Dm]drove us from the [Am]land.
You [Dm]tried to break our [Am]spirit but you’ll [Dm]never understand,
That the love of dear old [Am]Ireland will [F]forge an iron [C]will
As [Dm]long as there are [Am]gallant men like [Dm]Young Ned [Am]of the [Dm]Hill.
[riff]
A [Dm]curse upon you Oliver [Am]Cromwell; you [Dm]raped our mother-[Am]land.
I [Dm]hope you’re rottin’ [Am]down in Hell for the [Dm]horrors that you sent
To our misfortunate fore-[Am]fathers whom you [F]robbed of their birth-[C]right.
“To Hell or to [Dm]Connaught” – may you [Am]burn in Hell to-[Dm]night.
[riff]
[riff]