There's a song of young lives lost before their time,
Four daring lads cut down in their prime,
In a land that longs for freedom and for peace,
It's a prayer that all the heartache soon might cease.

Sometimes it's hard to find the words to say,
When the cut's so deep the pain won't go away,
How much longer must we struggle, mourn, and pray?
Until we see the light of freedom's dawning day.

In their boyhood years these lads learned at first hand,
They were only second class in their own land,
Stopped and searched by police each time they walked the street,
And degraded by each foot patrol they'd meet.

To the RUC and soldiers it was fun,
To intimidate our children with their guns,
But there's some young folk who won't take any more,
And there's some who'll want to even up the score.

Barry O'Donnell was a thorn in England's side,
He led his volunteers with dauntless pride,
Seán O'Farrell stood beside him all the while,
And we never will forget his roguish smile.

Countless times in action these pair played their part,
That they couldn't hold them broke the soldier's hearts,
But both lads knew they lived on borrowed time,
But they'd make their mark before they crossed the line.

In Coalisland Square that February night,
Oh, the soldiers in the barracks all took fright,
For on that lorry coming straight ahead,
Was the unit of the East Tyrone Brigade.

From that lorry's back the Irish flag flew high,
With that big machine gun pointed at the sky,
And when Barry with that gun began to shoot,
How those Brits they longed to transfer to Beirut.

As the tracer bullets split the barrack wall,
Our bold volunteers showed no fear at all,
As the lorry drove away the people cheered,
Little knowing that their cries would soon be tears.

It was the boldest deed that little town had known,
In all the years of struggle in Tyrone,
It was the saddest night the town would come to know,
For the SAS lay waiting at Clonoe.

It was not until they had the big gun down,
And our volunteers thought they were safe and sound,
But the sas they opened up from every side,
And on that killing ground four brave lads died.

We lost bold Peter Clancy on that night,
A volunteer who scorned Britannia's might,
Young Paddy Vincent died there at his side,
He lost his life for what he thought was right.

We salute you Barry, Peter, Paddy, Seán,
Though you've left us, still memory will live on,
For to the Crown, a knee you'd never bend,
And you were bold and fearless to the end.

So come all of you who love your native land,
As for peace and freedom we march hand in hand,
Our brave volunteers will not be lost in vain,
From the ashes we will build our land again,
From the ashes we will build our land again.