Is a City League, alas, often I'm back,
bound for my sweetheart abandoned me and did me my sense,
Unless I marry my store on the Inid this to us,
did, indeed, fall me in sorrow and I probably endure year.

Do arrives the thought than the sadness in around your heart,
as you would do on the throne to marry from Christchurch,
I would prefer you to óigfhir, without you farthing in the world,
not another pound man would coach running me so.

For chroitheas my hand you that day at green Knockboy,
and I thought the top was not a fáilt I have in life,
for you called the top you from planet the bright breast gentle,
is the woman who thraoch George, the sárfhear meanmnach stud .

Dh'aithním not the day nor the flower Championships this fall,
not dh'aithním my friends, the sárfhir to sheasaíodh I never
But dh'aithneoinn my true love, my chráiteacht if she had actually become my number,
is to take the death of dead poor wealth without meaning.

Oops, a white St. Patrick, who shárfhir from the Draighní shone,
To Do I love you not ashamed to take down your name,
go, you overseas or in any part of New England,
and séanfam our friends and never again chasfam not.

Warning: This is a machine translation!
Can you help us provide a proper one?