| Sad are the homes round Garryowen
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| Since they lost their joy and pride
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| And the banshee cry links every vale
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| Around the Shannon side that city of the ancient walls
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| the broken treaty stone, undying fame surrounds your name, Sean South from
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| Garryowen
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| T’was on a dreary New Years Eve
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| As the shades of night came down
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| A lorry load of volunteers approached the border town
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| There were men from Dublin and from Cork, Fermanagh and Tyrone
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| And the leader was a Limerick man — Sean South from Garryowen
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| As they moved along the street up to the barracks door
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| They scorned the danger they might face
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| Their fate taht lay instore
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| They were fighting for old Ireland to clim their very own
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| And the foremost of that gallant band
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| Was South from Garryowen
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| But the seargent spied their daring plan
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| He spied them trough the door
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| The Sten guns and the rifles a hail of death did pour
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| And when that awful night had passed
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| Two men lay cold a s stone
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| There was one from near the border twn and one from Garryowen
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| No more wil he hear the seagull’s cry
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| Over the murmurring Shannon tide
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| For he fell beneath a Northern sky brave Hanlon by his side
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| They have gone to join that gallant band
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| Of Plunkett, Pearse and Tone
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| A martyr for old Ireland
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| Sean South from Garryowen |