Come all you Ulster Protestants,
And in full chorus join,
Think on the deed’s of Craig’s Dragoons,
Who stuck below the groin,
And drink a toast to the truncheon,
And the armoured water hose,
That Moved a path through civil rights,
And spat on papish clothes.

We’ve gerrymandered Derry,
But Croppy won't lie down,
He calls himself a citizen ,
And he want votes in the town,
But that Saturday in Duke Street,
We slipped the velvet glove,
The iron hands of Craig’s Dragoons,
Soon crunched a Croopy dove.

Oh, MacAteer and Curry,
Gerry Fitt and other too,
Were fool enough to lead the van,
Expecting to get through,
But our hero commanders,
Let loose at last to play,
Did annihilate the rights of man,
In the noon time of the day.

Oh, they’ve downed woman and children,
For Teagues all overbreed,
They’ve used the baton on men’s heads,
For Craig would pay no heed,
And then the boys placed in plain clothes,
They lent a loyal hand,
To massacre the Derry boys,
Behind the Crossley van.

Oh, William Craig, you are our love,
Our lily and our sash,
Sure, you have the boys who fear no noise,
You’ll batter and you’ll bash,
They’ll cordon and they’ll baton charge,
They’ll silence protest tunes,
They are the hounds of Ulster boys,
Sweet William Craig’s Dragoons.