Old Tyrone’s hills were summer green,
Unconquered still by Tudor queen,
MacDonnell bad brave Shane to come,
And greeted him with pipe and drum

Laughter in the banquet hall,
The minstrels sang the braves of old,
The wine-cup circled ‘round the room,
As Shane O’Neill, he neared his doom.

Shane, Shane, Shane O’Neill,
Strong as oak,
True as steel,
No queen of all could make you kneel
Ulster’s prince was Shane O’Neill.

Darkness came along the glen,
The shadows hid MacDonnell’s men.
With drawn swords they stood around
And stabbed O’Neill onto the ground.

Summer comes, along glen dump ,
The sea is bright with morning sun,
And on a hill are cairn guns bare,
And Shane O’Neill lies ever there.

Shane, Shane, Shane O’Neill,
Strong as oak,
True as steel,
No queen of all could make you kneel
Ulster’s prince was Shane O’Neill.