In my dreams I own my bed last night and slumber trim,
That I was-in his marriage my heart intentionally store chanting,
had many dance and music inspired my ears,
and gold guinea first time my girlfriend should pretty red.

Tipperary is a maidean I left on Monday,
and not the status of that dtánas history 'on visiting Dingle,
Who would get over programs but my love and her play scuaibh,
and a switch of the claim was the girl offense pretty red.

Those of you, John, and fhágam home that Monday,
and that my heart broken, without getting me a toddy or value,
is that to say the women they prefer me dead in the grave,
If dtréigfead the program, the daily is the nice girl red.

Not thréigfeadsa the program, the daily or the woodpecker hard,
not desert you, nor Mary the wife gentle, is maid of a bundle,
as a fair-March I gave love and enjoy both cheeks,
and a secret bright my heart, not Drop I because the cows.

For chonacsa yesterday in cloth shop is far away,
would not Venus is the maiden, the maiden is curly,
no promise in this world from the sky down to the ground,
has not given me her own and after that went I it.

No rod in the woods is not a knot rise or top,
no trout in the pool does not become top water swim,
no priest in the kingdom fails to say mass,
But since passed she I have to forgive the day.

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