I'll get up in the morning
In the name of Sunday
And I will take up residence
On the little fair hill
Oh I will build a house there
Beside the road
At easy reach
To all places

There I'll have the freedom
Of the roads
Where I will meet learned people
Of ships and boats
There will be a school for artists
And for the young
Seeking knowledge
At my door

It is the talk of old women
And wise old folk
That has my mind confused
And my head spinning
Saying that the Pooka was there
Since the time of the Flood
That people saw him,
But no one can tell when

It is not that I would want
As winter approaches
To have my front garden
Turned upside down
At night he is
A cat or a dog
And as soon as he is a Pooka
He turns into an old white gelding

If I had a horse
As fast as the Pooka
My soul would be fast moving,
Getting there and coming back
If he loaded his cargo
Way down at Ceann Gaineamh
Oh he'd be at Eamonn O'Brien's gable
Within the half-hour

I will raise a fence
By Leenane's Ledge
To stop him getting in
By Torc Moore Slope
If he approaches Cashel
Through the center of Maoine
Over to the sheepland
Or over by the green pasture

I won't let him pass by me
Over land or sea
And I'll keep a close eye on him
On the roadway
If he happens on Jack,
A man of renown
He will surely put
His nose out of joint