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Ó, déanfaidh mé cuilt de mo bhríste A mhairfeas le saol na bhfear, Is ní bhainfidh mé an fheasóg seo dhíomsa Go bhfásfaidh sí bliain ar fad, Ó, éireoidh mé amach faoi na sléibhte Chomh giobach le caora ghlas, Mura bhfaighidh mise fear ar an gcaoi sin Ó, fágfaidh mé an saol ar fad.
Ó, éirigh is cuir ort do chuid éadaigh ’Gus téanam liom féin chun siúil, Anonn go dtí Easpag na hÉireann Go gceanglaítear mé agus thú, Ó, saothróidh mé arán agus tae duit, Ó, beoir mhaith na hÉireann is leann, Is ní fheicfidh tú lá de na laethanta Go mbeidh bád againn is b’fhéidir long.
Ó, éirigh is cuir ort do chuid éadaigh ’Gus crapfaidh mé féin do chúl, Fiche bó bhainne agus spré leis An ainnir ’tá ar thaobh na gcuan, Ó, deir siad go bhfuil sí lách péacach ’S gur cosúil le Véineas í, Ach is glas iad na cnoic is ní féarmhar Is fill orm féin aríst.
Nach trua nach bhfuil mise is mo chéadsearc Ar mhullach an tsléibhe amuigh, Gan duine ar bith bheith inár ngaobhar Ach sneachta dhá shéideadh aduaidh, Ó, shínfinn síos lena taobh deas Is ní ligfinn ina gaobhar fuacht, ’S go mbainfinn póg mhilis dá béilín A chuirfeadh na céadta chun suain.
Ó, tháinig mé isteach ag mo mháithrín Is mo bhalcaisí báite fliuch, ‘Óró, muise, a dheartháirín, Cá raibh tusa ag snámh inniu?’ ‘Ó, is cuma sin duitse, a mháithrín Mar ní bhaineann an cás seo duit, Mar go ndeachaigh mé i gcontúirt mo bháite Le Máirín taobh thall den tsruth.’
Ó, níl sé ach seachtain ó phós mé ’Gus is faide liom é ná bliain, Round the world for sporting ’Gus faraor má phós mé riamh, Ó, gealladh eallach go leor dhom ’S ní bhfuair mé ach an bhó agus an lao, Ó, cailleadh an lao orm sa ngeimhreadh ’Gus an bhó san earrach dár gcionn.
Oh, I will quilt of my trousers A remains a world of men, is not I reach the beard this dhíomsa That it grows year long, Oh, I get out of the mountains As giobach berries green, Unless I man the thus Oh, I will leave the world entirely.
Oh, success is put on your clothes and Come with me to walk, over to the Irish Bishops That required me and you, Oh, pursue me bread and tea to you, Oh, beer like the Irish ale, is you'll never of the days that is perhaps our ship boat.
Oh, success is put on your clothes and crapfaidh myself behind, twenty milking cows and spreading to the maiden 'is on the harbor, Oh, they say she is friendly sinner and that like Venus is, But green the hills are not féarmhar a fold myself again.
Not pity that I and my sweetheart On top of the mountain outside, Without anyone being in the vicinity But snow two blow north, Oh, would stretch down his right side is I would not let a gaobhar cold, and that I would kiss sweet his lips would would hundreds asleep.
Since I joined my mother is my bhalcaisí soaked, 'Oh, Oh, my pet, Where were you swim today?' 'Oh, look at you, dear mother As concerns this case you, as a I went in danger of drowning With Maureen far side of the stream. '
Oh, it is only a week since I got married and more like it than a year, Round the world for sporting and unfortunately if I married ever, Oh, promised cattle enough for me and I did not but the cow and the calf, From, lost I calf in winter and spring the next cow.
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