Two, three, four,
Up in Tennant Street, the Orangemen assembled,
Their guns made a terrible din,
They came down Peter's Hill in their thousands,
Determined to cross Carrick Hill.

Annie Largey was the first one to see them,
On her bugle she gave a loud blast,
From the houses the people came tumbling,
Swearing that no Orangemen would get past.

Father Bradley, ran out of St. Patrick's,
Gave three chimes on the old chapel bell,
And the wine victims of Milfield assembled,
Swearing to give all Orangemen hell.

Josie Meekin, that hero fought so bravely,
He's a man we never can thank,
He came out of the scrapyard like Rommel,
Shooting shells from an old German tank.

But at last poor Buxie Drummond was surrounded,
Outnumbered by forty to one,
His hatchet with blood was all blunted,
And the ammunition was done.

But then down from Turf Lodge Reservation,
Sure the Carrick Hill Arabs did come,
Bogie Bradley was there with his father,
And both of them carried a gun.

Sure Tommy Murray, he saddled his old piebald,
Diddler McCann, sure he stole a van,
And Punter O'Donnell, came on horseback,
And the rest of the troops, they just ran.

Oh, the dawn it was breaking on Belfast,
Carrick Hill was all but covered in red,
Lenny Deighon was hiring out handcarts,
For the Orangemen to take home their dead.