A great crowd had gathered outside of Kilmainham,
Their heads all uncovered, they knelt to the ground,
For inside that grim prison lay a brave Irish soldier,
His life for his country about to lay down.

He went to his death, oh, like a true son of Ireland,
The firing party he, oh, bravely did face,
Then the order rang out, "Present arms and fire!"
James Connolly fell into a ready made grave.

The black flag was hoisted, the cruel deed was over,
Gone was the man who loved Ireland so well,
There was many a sad heart in Dublin that morning,
When they murdered James Connolly, the Irish rebel.

God's curse on you England, you cruel hearted monster,
Your deeds they would shame all the devils in hell,
There's no flowers blooming, oh, but the shamrock is growing,
On the grave of James Connolly, the Irish rebel.

Many years have gone by, oh, since the Irish rebellion,
When the guns of Britannia they loudly did speak,
The bold IRA, oh, they stood shoulder to shoulder,
And the blood from their bodies flowed down Sackville Street.

The Four Courts of Dublin the English bombarded,
The spirit of freedom, they tried hard to quell,
But above the din rose the cry, "No surrender!"
Twas the voice of James Connolly, the Irish rebel.