Oh, in the name éireod on Sunday morning,
I will live a chnocáinín white,
I do not set aside the house there the road,
In proximity to the near and far here;
Is where I will man road route,
Oops, carrier, informants, man ship or boat,
The school will force young youth arts,
Seeking the information, coming up my street.

But conversation is the witch, the wise old people,
Left on my mind is stunning confusion in my head,
Why is the ghost from the time of the Deluge,
People saw it but do not know what time.
Oh, that was not the place I was coming winter quarter,
To be doing inside my street victimization,
That a cat is a night mhada,
Once is not a phúca sheanghearrán than a white.

A true neighbors, Oops, help me bring me,
Díbreodsa the ghost is out of place,
But spellbound servitude will take the humhlacht,
Without entry, Oops, closer than any night of the MAM.
As he concluded the most of nGriallach Patrick Burke,
Is the amount seniors, oh, where was insan,
But that is up previous siúlfadsa Hill Sunday
As is the phúca castle above its center.

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