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’S dá mbeadh péire maidí rámha agam is báidín beag agam féin, Ó, rachainn ag baint charraigín is dá thriomú leis an ngréin, Ó, chuirfinnse lucht go Gaillimh di agus hireáilfinn an traein Agus d’íocfainn an cíos le Robinson is bheadh an brabach beag agam féin.
Is nach maith an saothrú an carraigín, a dúirt an bhean aréir, Nach fearr ná ag baint na feamainne is ná rud ar bith mar é, Ó, siúd is ea a labhair an chailleachín is í bliain le cois an chéid, ‘Óra, feasta,’ a deir sí, ‘beidh tobac againn, dá gcaillfeadh mé leis lúth na méar.’
Agus bhí mé an lá cheana is mé thall i gCondae an Chláir, Mé ag breathnú ar na carrannaí ag goil síos aníos an tsráid, Bhí chuile dhuine amháin acu is é ag comhrá lena ghrá, Is mo bhádóir sínte ar phlatform is é chomh maraithe le scadán.
Á, is a bhruinnillín ’s a bhruinnillín ’s a bhruinneall eala bháin, An dtiocfá go Conamara liom san áit a bhíos an greann? Tá feilm deas talún agam is í réitithe amach le cur, Is tú féin a bheas in do bhoss uirthi nuair a gheobhas mo dhaidí bás.
Á is a bhádóirín is a bhádóirín is a bhádóir eala bháin, Nach n-aithneoinn ar do leicne anois gur fear thú atá i ndiaidh mná, Dá bhfaighinnse thíos faoi deic thú nó ar theile deireadh an bháid Óra, bhainfinnse póg mhilis dhíot ’s tú ag goil siar le taoille trá.
And if I had one pair of oars little báidín myself, Oh, connected carrageen'd go if the sun drying, Oh, she would put people to Galway and hire áilfinn the train and I paid the rent for a Robinson is the profit would my own little.
It is not like the exploitation of carrageen, the woman said last night, not better than using the seaweed or anything like it, Oh, who is to speak the chailleachín is year over the century, 'Oops, future, 'she says,' we will smoke, I would lose vigor if the finger. '
And I was the other day when I was over in County Clare, I look at the carrannaí was going down up the street, was everyone one of them is chatting with his love, is my boatmen stretched phlatform is as seafarers herring.
Being, as bhruinnillín and bhruinnillín and bhruinneall swan white, about coming to Connemara me where I was the humor? A farm in nice ground I is sorted out to be, is you'll be your boss her on receiving my dad died.
Being as bhádóirín as bhádóirín as boatmen swan white, That they recognize most of your cheeks now that the man you are after women, I could have below deck you or telework end of the boat Oops, I would kiss sweet thee when appetites back a tidal beach.
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