Nearly twenty years, he's been a rebel,
Of hunger strike and protest, he lived through plenty,
This country's torn apart, it nearly broke his heart,
In the war torn streets of Ulster.

He saw them take away his older brother,
He was kicked and punched in front of his dear mother,
No questions asked, backed in, these young men were terror,
In the war torn streets of Ulster.

He went to gaol, when he was just a young lad,
The judge put his away, said he was "Bad lad",
The sent him to H-Block Gaol, Tony Kelly was his name,
In the war torn streets of Ulster.

He joined the Blanket Protests with his comrades,
It seemed a hunger strike was the only way,
There in a cell he cried, as he watched ten young men die,
In the war torn streets of Ulster.

He left Long Kesh, along with thirty seven,
The loving for his freedom kept him driven,
Not thinking of his fate as he smashed out through the gate,
In the war torn streets of Ulster.

As the years rolled by and some of them were captured,
And three of those brave men, they'd all lie die,
McElwaine, McKearney and Fleming, these three men from H-Block 7,
In the war torn streets of Ulster.

Now as he wrote this song, he did recall,
The martyrs of Gibraltar and Loughgall,
All those gallant men and women, who fought for Ireland's freedom,
In the war torn streets of Ulster.

Nearly twenty years, he's been a rebel,
Of hunger strike and protest, he lived through plenty,
This country's torn apart, it nearly broke his heart,
In the war torn streets of Ulster,
In the war torn streets of Ulster,
Yes the war torn streets of Ulster,
Yes the war torn streets of Ulster.