{t:Roddy McCorley}
{st:Ethna Carbery}



Oh, [D]see the fleet-foot host of men, who [G]march with faces [D]drawn
From [D]farmstead and from [G]fishers' [D]cot, a[Bm]long the [G]banks of [A]Bann
They [D]come with vengeance [G]in their [D]eyes. Too [Bm]late! Too [G]late are [A]they
For young [D]Roddy McCorley goes to die on the [G]bridge of Toome [D]today


[D]Up the narrow street he stepped, so [G]smiling, proud and [D]young
A[D]bout the hemp-rope [G]on his [D]neck, the [Bm]golden [G]ringlets [A]clung
There's [D]ne'er a tear in [G]his blue [D]eyes, fear[Bm]less and [G]brave are [A]they
As young [D]Roddy McCorley goes to die on the [G]bridge of Toome [D]today



When [D]last this narrow street he trod, his [G]shining pike in [D]hand
Be[D]hind him marched, in [G]grim ar[D]ray, an [Bm]earnest [G]stalwart [A]band
To [D]Antrim town! To [G]Antrim [D]town, he [Bm]led them [G]to the [A]fray
But young [D]Roddy McCorley goes to die on the [G]bridge of Toome [D]today



There's [D]never a one of all your dead more [G]bravely died in [D]fray
Than [D]he who marches [G]to his [D]fate in [Bm]Toomebridge [G]town to[A]day
[D]True to the last! [G]True to the [D]last, he [Bm]treads the [G]upwards [A]way
And young [D]Roddy McCorley goes to die on the [G]bridge of Toome [D]today