May God reward those gallant men, may heaven be their home,
Twas in Brookeborough town, where they got shot down,
In a cabin, they laid cold, well they never feared the RUC,
Nor B-men on patrol, O'Hanlon from the border, Seán South from Garryowen.

It was on a dreary New Year's Day as the shades of night came down,
A lorry load of volunteers approached the border town,
There were men from Dublin and from Cork, Fermanagh and Tyrone,
But the leader was a Limerick man, Seán South from Garryowen.

And as they marched up along the street up to the barrack door,
They scorned the dangers they would meet, the fate that lay in store,
They were fighting for old Ireland cause, to claim her very own,
And the foremost of that gallant band was Seán South from Garryowen.

But the sergeant foiled their daring plan, he spied them through the door,
Then sten guns and the rifles, a hail of death did pour,
And when that awful night was past, two men were cold as stone,
There was one from near the border and one from Garryowen.

No more he will hear the seagull's cry, o'er the Shannon's murmuring tide,
For he fell beneath a northern sky, brave Hanlon by his side,
He has gone to join that gallant band of Plunkett, Pearse and Tone,
A martyr for old Ireland was Seán South from Garryowen.