One fine winter's morn my horn I did blow
To the green fields of Keady for hours we did go
We gathered our dogs and we circled around
For none loves the sport better than the boys in the dell

And when we arrived they were all standing there
We set off for the fields, boys, in search of a hare
We didn't get far till someone gave the cheer
Over high hills and valleys the sweet puss did steer

As we flew o'er the hills, 'twas a beautiful sight
There was dogs black and yellow, there was dogs black and white
As she took the black bank for to try them once more
Oh it was her last look o'er the hills of Greenmore

In a field of wheat stubble this pussy did lie
And Rory and Charmer they did pass her by
And there where we stood at the top of the brae
We heard the last words that this sweet puss did say:

“No more o'er the green fields of Keady I'll roam
Nor trip through the fields, boys, in sport and in fun
Or hear the long horn that your toner does play
I'll go home to my den by the clear light of day.”

You may blame ol' MacMahon for killing the hare
For he's at his ol' capers this many's a year
On Saturday and Sunday he never gives o'er
With a pack of strange dogs round the hills of Greenmore