A great crowd had gathered Outside of Kilmainhaim,
With their heads uncovered they knelt on the ground,
For inside that grim prison lay a brave Irish Soldier,
His life for his Country about to lay down,
He Went to his death like a true son of Ireland,
The firing party he bravely did face,
Then the order rang out: "Present arms, fire,"
fell into a ready made grave.
The black flag they hoisted, the cruel deed was over,
Gone was a man who loved Ireland so well,
There was many a sad heart in Dublin that morning,
When they murdered James Connolly, the Irish Rebel.
God's curse on you England, you cruel-hearted monster
Your deeds they would shame all the devils in Hell
There are no flowers blooming but the shamrock is growing
On the grave of James Connolly, the Irish Rebel,
Many years have rolled by since that Irish rebellion,
When the guns of Britannia they loudly did speak.
The bold IRA they stood shoulder to shoulder
And the blood from their bodies flowed down Sackville Street
The Four Courts of Dublin the English bombarded,
The spirit of freedom they tried hard to quell,
But above all the din rose the cry "No Surrender",
'Twas the voice of James Connolly, the Irish Rebel.
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