The great Gaels of Ireland are the men that God made mad,
For all their wars are merry, and all their songs are sad

I traverse across the seas, scouring the realm for nubile women to copulate with, alongside rich, albeit minimally fortified outposts to lay waste upon. For many a season, I earn my wages through plunder and warfare, plunging my hatchet into many a mayors, or Bailiffs skulls. Due to my renown as a marauder, I am plastered throughout town squares, cities and rural villages, with various men of influential positions offering immense amounts of gold, in return for my capture. I will state here and now, I am captain of the high seas, for decades I have eluded the zealous attempts of bounty hunters and with the fates willing, I will continue to do so. Perhaps, one day, while lumbering in Nassau, I will be set upon by unscrupulous fiends and forced to capitulate, however, that day is yet to come and I am dubious it ever will, for my vigilant crew will be perpetually by my side, stalwartly engaging in the honest occupation of politely coercing merchants to relinquish their trinkets in the reasonable exchange for their life. Overall, cretins beware, for i'm on the bay, scouring the horizon for worthy merchants to 'converse' and 'negotiate' with.

Eire Abu, Oglaigh Abu

I am not a pigeon, any more attempts in asserting as such will be hereby labelled as an act of treason and dissidence against the county Carlow.

Lift, McCahir Og, your face
Still brooding over the old disgrace?
That Black Fitzwilliam stormed your place
Drove you to the Fern

Gray said victory was sure
And soon the Firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at Glenmalure
With Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne

Curse and swear, Lord Kildare
Fiach will do, what Fiach will dare
Now Fitzwilliam have a care
Fallen is your star low

Up with halberd, out with sword
On we'll go for by the lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word
Follow me up to Carlow

See the swords of Glen Imayle
They're flashing over the English pale
See all the children of the Gael
Beneath O'Byrne's banners

Roosters of the fighting stock
Would you let a Saxon ♥♥♥♥
Crow out upon, an Irish rock?
Fly up and teach him manners

Curse and swear, Lord Kildare
Fiach will do, what Fiach will dare
Now Fitzwilliam have a care
Fallen is your star low

Up with halberd, out with sword
On we'll go for by the lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word
Follow me up to Carlow

From Tassagart to Clonmore
There flows a stream of Saxon gore
O great is Rory Og Omore
At sending the loons to Hades

White is sick, Grey is fled
And now for Black Fitzwilliams head
We'll send it over dripping red
To Queen Liza and her ladies

Curse and swear, Lord Kildare
Fiach will do, what Fiach will dare
Now Fitzwilliam have a care
Fallen is your star low

Up with halberd, out with sword
On we'll go for by the lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word
Follow me up to Carlow