Me, toome got Holy Cross clo'es.

Too late are they, For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

Oh Ireland, Mother Ireland, you love them still the best The fearless brave who fighting fall upon your hapless breast, But never a one of all your dead more bravely fell in fray, Than he who marches to his fate on the bridge of Toome today.

About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung; There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, fearless and brave are they, As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

To Antrim town, he led them to the fray, But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

The grey coat and its sash of green were brave and stainless then, A banner flashed beneath the sun over the marching men; The coat hath many a rent this noon, the sash is torn away, And Roddy McCorley goes to die on the the bridge of Toome today.

Then found a foeman's heart, Through furious fight, and heavy odds he bore a true man's part And many a red-coat bit the dust before his keen pike-play, But Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

True to the last, he treads the upwards way, And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

"You thought for her, you acted for her, frae the first; you toomed her, and then filled her up wi' yoursel'.