Christy Moore Dunlavin Green
In the year of one thousand seven hundred and ninety-
eight
A sorrowful tale the truth unto you I'll relate
Of thirty-six heroes to the world they were left to be
seen
By a false information they were shot on Dunlavin Green
Bad luck to you Saunders their lives you sold away
You said a parade would be held on that very day
The drums they did rattle and the fifes they did
sweetly play
Surrounded we were and quietly marched away
Quite easily they led us as prisoners through the town
To be shot on the plain we then were forced to lie down
Such grief and such sorrow in one place was ne'er
before seen
As when the blood ran in streams down the dykes of
Dunlavin Green
There is young Andy Ryan he has plenty of cause to
complain
Likewise the two Duffy's who were shot down on the
plain
And young Mattie Farrell whose mother distracted will
run
For the loss of her own darling boy her eldest son
Bad luck to you Saunders bad luck may you never shun
That the widow's curse might melt you like snow in the
sun
The cries of those orphans whose murmurs you shall
never sheen
For the loss of their own dear fathers who died on the
green
Some of our boys to the hills they have run away
Some of them have been shot and more have run off to
sea
Michael Dwyer of the mountain has plenty of cause for
the spleen
For the loss of his own dear comrades who died on the
green