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

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

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

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

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