In the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety eight A sorrowful tale the truth unto you I'll relate Of thirty-six heroes to the world were left to be seen By a false information were shot on Dunlavin Green Bad luck to you Saunders, for you did their lives betray You said a parade would be held on that very day Our drums they did rattle - our fifes they did sweetly play Surrounded we were and privately marched away Quite easy they led us like prisoners through the town To be shot on the plain, we first were forced to kneel down Such grief and such sorrow were never before there seen When the blood ran in streams down the dykes of Dunlavin Green There is young Matty Farrell who has plenty of cause to complain Likewise the two Duffys who were also shot down upon the plain And young Andy Ryan, his mother distracted will run For the loss of her darling, her only beloved son Bad luck to you, Saunders, may bad luck never you shun! That the widow's curse may melt you like the snow in the sun The cries of the orphans their murmurs you cannot screen For the murder of their fathers on Dunlavin Green Some of our boys to the hills they are going away Some of them are shot and some of them going to sea Mickey Dwyer in the mountains to Saunders he owes a spleen For loss of his brothers who were shot on Dunlavin Green In the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety eight A sorrowful tale the truth unto you I'll relate Of thirty-six heroes to the world were left to be seen By a false information were shot on Dunlavin Green