On March the sixth on sixty three we sailed from Queenstown Quay,
With the gallant boys from Erin’s Isle bound for Amerikay.
In travelling with this gallant band, as you may plainly see,
I was forced to go from sweet Clarroe down Erin's lovely Lee.

For six long weeks we ploughed the sea, from Queenstown Quay in Cork,
And like the arrow through the air we landed in New York.
The Yankee boys with stars and stripes came flocking round to see,
This gallant band of Fenian men from Erin's lovely Lee.

Sure one of them stepped up to me and asked me did I know
The green hills of Tipperary or the Glen of Aherlow.
Or could I tell where Crowley fell, his native land to free,
Or the tower that Captain Mackey sacked, down Erin's lovely Lee.

Tis I can tell where Crowley fell, 'twas in Kilclooney Wood.
And the tower that Captain Mackey sacked, 'twas by his side I stood.
When he gave the word, we raised the cheer that made the tyrant frown,
And we raised the shamrock o'er our head, the harp without the crown.

And then he also asked me where Wolfe Tone’s body lay,
Or did I know the resting place of Emmet’s sacred clay?
Or did I know of bold Dwyer, the Wicklow mountain lion,
And the three Manchester Martyrs - Alan, Larkin and O’Brien?

When I was leaving Ireland, we passed through sweet Kildare.
The grass was green on Bodenstown, Wolfe Tone is lying there.
And going along through Dublin town, we passed Glasnevin through,
Sure tis there that Robert Emmet lies, a patriot loyal and true.

And now I'm tired of roaming, the seas I will cross o'er.
To feel the clasp of honest hand, when I return once more.
When I’ll go home to sweet Clarroe the boys they’ll welcome me,
Likewise the men from rebel Cork, down Erin's lovely Lee.