His grey coat and its sash of green, were clean and stainless then,
A banner flashed beneath the sun, onto the marching men,
His coat as many are rent this noon, his sashes is torn away,
And Roddy McCorley goes to die on the Bridge of Toome today.

Oh, see the fleet-foot host of men, who speed with faces wan,
From farmstead and from fisher's cot, along the banks of Bann,
They come with vengeance in their eyes, too late, too late, are they,
For 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 was never a tear in his blue, blue, eyes, but sad and bright are they,
And Roddy McCorley goes to die on the Bridge of Toome today.

When he last stepped up that street, his shining steel in hand,
Behind him marched in grim array, a stalwart, earnest band,
For Antrim town, for Antrim town, he lead them to the fray,
And Roddy McCorley goes to die on the Bridge of Toome today.

Oh, how his pike flashed to the sun and found a foeman's heart,
Through furious fight and heavy odds, he bore a true man's part,
Aye, and many a redcoat he bit the dust before his keen pike play,
And Roddy McCorley goes to die on the Bridge of Toome today.

Oh, Ireland, Mother Ireland, you love them still the best,
Those fearless men who fighting fall upon your hapless breast,
Oh, but never a one of all your dead more bravely fell in fray,
Than he who marches to his fate on the Bridge of Toome today.

Because he loved his Motherland, because he loved the green
He goes to meet a martyr's fate, with a proud and joyous mien,
True to the last, true to the last, he treads his upward way,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the Bridge of Toome today.