Young Ned of the Hill --- T. Woods/R. Ravana
(moderate)
[Am]Have you [Dm]ever
walked the [Am]lonesome hill or [Dm]heard
the curlew’s [Am]cry?
Or [Dm]seen the
raven [Am]black as night, up [Dm]on
the windswept sky?
To walk the purple [Am]heather
and [F]hear the west wind [C]cry?
To [Dm]know that’s
where the [Am]raparee must [Dm]die?
[riff]
[riff -- with increasing tempo]
(energetically)
Since [Dm]Cromwell
pushed us [Am]westward to [Dm]live
our lowly [Am]lives,
[Dm]Some of us have
[Am]deemed to fight from Tipper-[Dm]ary
mountains high.
Noble men with [Am]wills
of iron who are [F]not afraid to [C]die.
Who’ll [Dm]fight
with Gaelic [Am]honour held on [Dm]high.
A [Dm]curse
upon you Oliver [Am]Cromwell; you [Dm]raped
our mother-[Am]land.
I [Dm]hope
you’re rottin’ [Am]down in Hell for the [Dm]horrors
that you sent
To our misfortunate fore-[Am]fathers
whom you [F]robbed of their birth-[C]right.
“To Hell or to [Dm]Connaught”
– may you [Am]burn in Hell to-[Dm]night.
[riff]
Of [Dm]such a man
I’d [Am]like to speak, a [Dm]raparee
by [Am]name and deed.
His [Dm]family
dispos- [Am]sessed and slaughtered --- a
[Dm]price upon his head.
He’s known in song and [Am]story,
his [F]deeds are legend [C]still.
And [Dm]murdered for
blood [Am]money was the [Dm]Young
Ned [Am]of the [Dm]Hill.
You [Dm]robbed our
homes and [Am]fortunes, even [Dm]drove
us from the [Am]land.
You [Dm]tried to
break our [Am]spirit but you’ll [Dm]never
understand,
That the love of dear old [Am]Ireland
will [F]forge an iron [C]will
As [Dm]long as there
are [Am]gallant men like [Dm]Young
Ned [Am]of the [Dm]Hill.
[riff]
A [Dm]curse
upon you Oliver [Am]Cromwell; you [Dm]raped
our mother-[Am]land.
I [Dm]hope
you’re rottin’ [Am]down in Hell for the [Dm]horrors
that you sent
To our misfortunate fore-[Am]fathers
whom you [F]robbed of their birth-[C]right.
“To Hell or to [Dm]Connaught”
– may you [Am]burn in Hell to-[Dm]night.
[riff]
[riff]