Behold the crimson banner's float,
O'er yonder turfret hoary.
It tells of days of mighty note,
And Derry's deathless glory,
When her brave sons undaunted stood,
Embattled to defend her
Indignant stemmed oppression's flood
And sang out "No Surrender".
Then here's to the boys that fear no
And never will surrender.
The gates we'll close against her foes,
On the eighteenth of December
Old Derry's walls were firm and strong,
Well fenced in ev'ry quarter.
Each frowning bastion grim along,
With culverin and mortar.
But Derry has a surer guard
Than all that art could lend her.
Her 'Prentice hearts the gates who barred
And sand out "No Surrender".
On came the foe in bigot ire,
And fierce assault was given.
By shot and shell, mid stream of fire,
Her fatal roofs were riven.
But baffled was the tyrant's wrath,
And vain his hope to bend her.
For still 'mid famine, fire and death
She sang out "No surrender".
Again, when treason maddened round,
And rebel hordes were swarming,
Were Derry's sons the foremost found
For King and Country arming.
And forth they rushed at honour's call,
From age to boyhood tender.
Again to man there virgin wall,
And sang out "No surrender".
Long may the crimson banner wave,
A meteor streaming airy.
Portentous of the free and brave,
Who manned the walls of Derry.
And Derry's sons alike defy
Pope, traitor or pretender,
And ring to heaven their 'Prentice cry
Their patriot "No Surrender".