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Thiar i gConnachta atá mo lóistín, ’S nach fada ó bhaile atá m’áit cónaí, Sheolfainn long ar an chéad mhí ’fhómhair, ’S chaithfinn an geimhreadh ag mo mhíle stóirín.
Spleoid ort, a chluanaí, is tú a mhearaigh m’intinn, Is gur leat a shiúlfainn thart Éirinn timpeall, Chuirfinn mo dhá lámh gheala fá do mhuineál gléigeal, ’S cibé arb olc air é go mbeinn ag caint leat.
Chuaigh mo bhunadhsa anonn go hAlbain A dhéanamh cleamhnais le buachaill Sasanach, Nuair a shíl mé féin gur buachaill óg a bhí ann, Cé a bhí agam ann ach baintreach phósta.
Tá a fhios ag an tsaol mhór nach baintreach ab fhearr liom Ach stocach óg deas a mbeadh aoibh an gháire air, A labharfadh liomsa go ciúin is go céiliúir Is a bhéarfadh comhrá ciúin dom le linn na hoíche.
Nach trua mé inniu agus nach trua mé amárach, Mo theach mór folamh agus gan agam práta, Gan aon deoir bhainne agam is gile ná an t-uisce, Tá leanbh óg agam is tá m’fhortún briste.
Scríobhfainn litir le peann is páipéar, Is níl a fhios ag éinneach cá bhfuil mo ghrá-sa, Má tá airgead agat ná caoirigh bána, Tabhair don leanbh iad, sé a d’ordaigh a mháithrín.
Och inniu agus och amárach, Och ’ach uile lá is chan och gan ábhar, Scéal a chuala mé go mór a chráigh mé, Is buan mo mhallachtsa ar an té a bhain mo ghrá díom.
Connacht's West in my accommodation, and not far from the town where I live, Sheolfainn ship the first months' harvest, and I'd spend the winter, my darling.
Spleoid you, to Springfield, you are a sham, is that you walk around Ireland around, I would put my two hands under the neck shining sea, and whether it is evil which I would be talking to you.
My bhunadhsa went back to Scotland make dating a British boy, when I thought that it was a young boy, Although I was only married widow.
Know the great life is not my favorite widow But nice young lads would he smile, A labharfadh me quietly that birdsong is a quiet conversation involving me during the night.
I pity not today and not tomorrow I pity, My house is empty and without I have potato, No I tear brightest milk or water, is I've a young child m'fhortún broken.
Scríobhfainn pencil paper letter, is éinneach does not know where is my love-in, If you do not have money white sheep, Give the child to them, he ordered his mother.
Today and tomorrow och Och, och 'all day but no matter och chan, a story I have heard that I broke, is my mhallachtsa permanent whoever my love did me.
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