Oh, Garryowen in gone to rack, her blood is on the outlaw's track,
The night hangs starless, cold and black above the shining river;
Yet voices live along her walls that ring out like old bugle calls,
Through lonesome streets and ruined halls "Our native land forever!"
Then Hip hurrah! for Garryowen, for, as stands the Treaty Stone
Our Irishmen will bear alone for Garryowen na glora.
On those old walls brave Sarsfield stood and looked into the Shannon's flood
And lo! 'twas flowing red with blood of foreign foes to freedom,
Within the good old town is still for Ireland's cause some blood to spill
And hearts to fight with right good wills, and Sarsfield yet to lead them.
Three times three for Limerick town and Sarsfield's men of high renown
Who tramped the English banner down in Garryowen na glora.
Our good sires met the English Lords their hands forever on their swords,
Their slashing blows the only words they deigned to give the foemen.
And we will take our fathers' place and scowl into the Saxon face
The hatred of a royal race that will be slaves to no men.
Then draw your swords for Garryowen and swear upon the Treaty Stone
To live for Ireland's sake alone in Garryowen na glora.
Oh, for an hour in Garryowen in the crimson light of days long flown,
Our banners of green to the gay winds thrown to the chorus of the cannon
To hear the thrilling bugle's call, and Sarsfield's cry "Behold the Gall!"
Hurrah! to leap the fosse and wall and pike them in the Shannon,
Then toast the men who fought and won beneath our banner of the sun
And we can do what they have done In Garryowen na glora.
Though Garryowen is gone to rack we'll win her golden glories back,
The night that shrouds her cold and black, we'll light with song and story,
And though her walls are overthrown we'll build them high yet, stone On stone
And freedom shall be Queen alone in Garryowen na glora.
So three times three for Garryowen her old gray walls and Treaty Stones
We live for Ireland's cause alone in Garryowen na glora.