Oh, I left home early the early hours of Friday,
At appetites Estuary east Scríb as long as it was,
Accompanied bog working from morning to night,
But there again if I survived ghabhfainnse forever.

As it blew a storm, or rain is a rolling stock,
Pressing is not a shelter was found in one place,
But I was in the heart of the most flood chriathraigh around me,
Oh, I wet to heart and then to the bone.

But the BOC came about was this great book in his pocket,
Oh, he looked in my direction-in the back and forth,
He started rupture is laying the turf,
Ah, I said siúladh or do better.

But I replied back, 'Do not tracing the turf,
But throw off your coat and tight I come here,
I fheice is not God, or is before me that evening,
Do I will meet you one ghortós your head. '

Well, I spent a month there without my back poor focus,
Being think in fact, I was' my torment,
Making gróigíní rat 'wet with manure,
Moorland is not dry now as much as inside a center.

I got a paper on Friday morning,
Oh, I saw it carefully back and forth,
And when I paid the landlady that had the money I spent,
I prefer the peace and sleep peacefully.

Despicable as the law in this country,
And the relatively prudent person would not he would remain there,
Accompanied on the bog east from morning to night,
It is seven pínne a large white loaf.

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