English (machine translation)
I put my old man into the corner,
A drinking milk fire with sour barley bread,
If he be one in the nose,
and such a thing in the rest of the young girls.
Oru, that old man, that old man burnt,
ORU, that old man, you are never married,
ORU, that old man, that old man burnt,
Lie on your bed and codlaigh enough.
I put my old man that street Ballinrobe,
a feather in his hat and buckles in his shoes,
was attracting three four were kissing is,
is I heard that he went leofa Galway.
Had to know my old man, since, as bímse,
Drinking hógfhir is playing with the country,
With rising of the moon that he broke his pipe,
and it beats in the contents DENA bhuig urged.
If my old man got the thing he should,
Bites bites butter and meat,
Lower churn and roast potatoes were,
would rattle off six young girls.
If you saw my old man at midnight,
A also has the barrier is a pipe redness,
That like a sea rod to two narrow shafts,
is not then he would, would not it never is.
I could have my old man drowned in a hole móineadh,
Cois be broken as stem wounded,
I'd give 'would stretch the home and program it,
and walk out with the young boys.
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