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In the heart of Cork City,
Where the Lee runs swift and wide,
Fought a man named Seán Ó Misteil,
With a fire he couldn’t hide.
He lead the First Cork Brigade,
Not for glory, nor for fame —
But to break the chains of empire,
Not just change the flag or name.

So here’s to Mitchell’s Brigade,
Let their story now be told,
As they fought for Cork and Ireland,
With their hearts both brave and bold.
Through the valleys and the mountains,
By the river and the rill,
Echoes on the cry of freedom —
Led by Seán Ó Misteil still.

They trained in hills of Carrig,
Out past Blarney’s wooded glen,
With their rifles wrapped in oilcloth,
They were rebel fighting men.
From Ballinlough to Passage,
Turner’s Cross to Sunday’s Well,
They were feared by crown and landlord —
And they gave them bloody hell.

He would say in quiet moments,
When the gunfire ceased to roar,
“What are we even fighting —
Just to raise another flag once more?”
He believed in true republic,
Born from people, strong and free,
Not in titles, flags or power,
But in real democracy.

So here’s to Mitchell’s Brigade,
May their names be ever sung,
In the streets of Cork City,
Where their rebel hearts were young.

Though the years may roll o’er Erin,
You can hear them marching still —
For the cause that Seán stood up for,
Echoes strong in rebel will.

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