Sharp is the wind
Cold is the rain
Harsh is the livelong day
Upon the wide open plain
By Donnelly's hollow
Under sad gorse and furze
There lies a young wren oh
By the saints she was cursed
The wren is a small bird
How pretty she sings
She bested the eagle
When she hid in its wings
With sticks and with stones
Among the small mounds
They come from all over
To hunt the wren on the wide open ground
With cold want and whisky
She soon is run down
Her body paraded
On a staff through the town
Attacked in the village
And spat on in town
They come from all over
To hunt the wren on the wide open ground
They flock round the soldiers
In their jackets so red
For barrack room favours
Pennies and bread
The soldier is rough
In anger or fun
And he causes much bloodshed
With his big musket gun
The wren is a small bird
How pretty she sings
She bested the eagle
When she hid in its wings
With sticks and with stones
Among the small mounds
They come from all over
To hunt the wren on the wide open ground