Young Ned of the hill lyrics and chords
Young Ned Of The Hill Lyrics And Guitar Chords The Pogues [ songs ], Written By Ron Kavana & Terry Woods. Young Ned was Edmund Ryan from Tipperary who was a member of The Wild Geese
[Am] Have you ever [Em] walked the lonesome hills
And [Am] heard the curlews [Em] cry?
Or [Am] seen the Raven [Em] black as night,
[C] Upon a [G] windswept [Am] sky?
To [Am] walk the purple [Em] heather,
And [Am] hear the westwind [Em] cry
To [Am] know that's where the [Em] rapparee must [Am] die
Since Cromwell put us westward
To live our lowly lives
There's some of us have deemed to fight
From Tipperary mountains high
Noble men with wills of iron
Who are not afraid to die
Who'll fight with Gaelic honour held on high
Chorus:
A curse on you Oliver Cromwell
You've raped our mother land
I hope you're rotting down in Hell
For the horrors that you sent
To our misfortunate forefathers
Whom you robbed of their birthright
"To Hell our Connacht", may you burn in Hell tonight
Of one such man I'd like to speak
A rappareee by name and deed
His family dispossessed and slaughtered
They put a price upon his head
His name is known in song and story
His deeds are legend still
And murdered for blood money
Was [C] young Ned [G] of the [Am] hill
You have robbed our homes and fortunates
Even drove us from our land
You tried to break our spirit
But you never understand
The love of dear old Ireland
That will forge an iron will
As long as there are gallant men
Like young Ned of the hill
And [Am] heard the curlews [Em] cry?
Or [Am] seen the Raven [Em] black as night,
[C] Upon a [G] windswept [Am] sky?
To [Am] walk the purple [Em] heather,
And [Am] hear the westwind [Em] cry
To [Am] know that's where the [Em] rapparee must [Am] die
Since Cromwell put us westward
To live our lowly lives
There's some of us have deemed to fight
From Tipperary mountains high
Noble men with wills of iron
Who are not afraid to die
Who'll fight with Gaelic honour held on high
Chorus:
A curse on you Oliver Cromwell
You've raped our mother land
I hope you're rotting down in Hell
For the horrors that you sent
To our misfortunate forefathers
Whom you robbed of their birthright
"To Hell our Connacht", may you burn in Hell tonight
Of one such man I'd like to speak
A rappareee by name and deed
His family dispossessed and slaughtered
They put a price upon his head
His name is known in song and story
His deeds are legend still
And murdered for blood money
Was [C] young Ned [G] of the [Am] hill
You have robbed our homes and fortunates
Even drove us from our land
You tried to break our spirit
But you never understand
The love of dear old Ireland
That will forge an iron will
As long as there are gallant men
Like young Ned of the hill
