A great crowd had gathered outside of Kilmainham.
With their heads all uncovered, they knelt on the ground.
For inside that grim prison was a brave Irish soldier.
His life for his country about to lay down.
He went to his death like a true son of Ireland.
The firing party, he bravely did face.
Then the order ran out, present arms and fire.
James Connolly fell into a ready made grave.
The black flag was hoisted, the cruel deed was over.
Gone was the man who loved Ireland so well.
There was many's the sad heart in Dublin that morning.
When they murdered James Connolly, the Irish Rebel.
God's curse on you England, you cruel hearted murderer.
Your deeds they will shame all the Devil's in Hell.
There are no flowers blooming, but the shamrock is growing.
On the grave of James Connolly, the Irish Rebel.
Many years have gone by since the Irish Rebellion.
When the guns of Britannia so loudly did speak.
Then the bold IRA stood shoulder to shoulder.
As the blood from their bodies flowed down Sackville Street.
The Four Courts of Dublin the English bombarded.
Their spirit of freedom they tried hard to quell.
But above all the din, came the cry, "No surrender!"
'Twas the voice of James Connolly, the Irish Rebel.
'Twas the voice of James Connolly, the Irish Rebel.