Well it was on a dreary New Year's Eve 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, (You on your own!)
But the leader was a Limerick man, was South of Garryowen.

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

But the sergeant foiled their daring plan, he spied them through the door,
The sten guns and the rifles peeled and a hail of death did pour,
When that awful night was past, two men lay as cold as stone,
There was one from part of Monaghan and one of Garryowen.

No more he will hear the seagull's cry, o'er the murmuring Shannon tide,
He fell beneath a northern sky, brave O'Hanlon by his side,
They have gone to join the gallant band of Plunkett, Pearse and Tone, (Wolfe Tone!)
Another martyr for old Ireland, was South of Garryowen,
Another martyr for old Ireland, Seán South of Garryowen.