A large crowd had gathered outside of Kilmainham,
With their heads all uncovered, they knelt on the ground,
For inside that grim prison lay a true son of Ireland,
His life for his country about to lay down.

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

The Four Courts of Dublin the English bombarded,
Our spirit of freedom, they tried hard to beat,
And the bold IRA stood shoulder to shoulder,
As the blood from their bodies flowed down Sackville Street.

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

Oh, many years have now past since the Easter rebellion,
When those guns of Britannia so loudly did yell,
But above all the din came the cry, "No surrender!"
Was the voice of James Connolly, the Irish rebel,
Was the voice of James Connolly, the Irish rebel.