Sad are the homes around Garryowen, since they lost their gal land pride,

but the banshee cry, rings every vale along the Shannon side, that city of the ancient walls, the broken treaty stone, on dying fame surrounds your name Sean South From Garryowen.

It[D] was on a dreary new year's eve as the[G] shades of night came[D] down,

A[D] lorry load of[G] volun[D]teers approched the border [A]town,

There was[D] men from Dublin[G] and from [D]Cork,Fermanagh[G] and Ty[A]rone,

And their[D] leader was a Limerick man Sean[G] South from[D] Garryowen

[2]

And as they moved along the streets up to the barrack door,

They scorned the danger they might face,the fate that lay in store,

They were fighting for old Ireland,to claim their very own,

And the foremost of that gallant band was South from Garryowen.

[3]

But the sergent foiled their daring plan,he spied them through the door,

Then the Sten guns and the rifles a hail of death did pour,

And when that auful night was past,two men lay as cold as stone,

There was one from near the border,and one from Garryowen.

[3]

No more he'll hear the seagull cry o're the murmuring Shannon tide,

For he fell beneath a Northern sky,brave Hanlon by his side,

They have gone to join that gallant band of Plunkett Pearse and Tone,

A martyr for old Ireland,Sean South from Garryowen

He was born in limerick city where
the shannon waters flow
A lad of princely bearing,
as everybody knows
He loved his native language,
because it was his own
Oh let irishmen ne'er forget
Sean south of garryowen

As christmas eve was dawning near
he faced our ancient foe
But many had greeted him that day
for few had seen him go
But when his reddled body
Came home to rest amoung his own
There were thousands there to welcome back
Sean South from Garryowen

The wee ones in Fermanagh homes
Are asking where your gone
Where is the red haired soldier now
who spoke our Gaelic tongue
Beside the fire he drew for us
and spoke of Pearse and Tone
Oh mammt will we meet again
Sean South from Garryowen

A Sheain a ghra your resting now
with Ireland's noble dead
While Ulster fields are crimson
with the blood you gladly shed
May the God who reigns in heaven
take you to his kingly throne
And may Irishmen remember well
Sean South from Garryowen

Taken from The Republican paper , 'The United Irishman' in 1957.
The writer remains unknown as with many rebel song writers,

 

Here is the sheet music and tin whistle notes for Sean South , it's the same as Roddy McCorey.