For they surely will cut down the weir;
They seem to be all mad.
The sargint cries: ‘Come on, me boys;
We’ll fire at them some shots.’
But Molly M‘Guire made them soon retire,
Her army stood so brave.
She chases the poliss to their dens,
Like dogs that lost their tails;
For Molly M‘Guire will rise the hire,
An’ cut away the weirs.