Oh, Johnny Joyce, understand my voices,
and I ola of hope for rigorous,
as you are the star of knowledge, fine light
before me at the temple of God,
You are the flower of youth nicest voices
Of knocked my eye it since I was born,
Oh, and for Christ give me relief
Or Christmas Eve.

The following day, yes I got the paper,
is that I was happy I was going 'un walking,
But I got no response that day,
But my wife and my children to outdoor dew,
I have cooked, burned, scrubbing, skinned,
Liobraithe, cut with plenty of walking,
'Gus, a Mhister Joyce, the Workhouse lot,
is there will not be any more men.

It is almost the chliú your home Carna,
the long and the couple was going PRIEST
As nicest most finest beauty of the woman
not the morning star when illuminated by it,
is the queen ill is weak in bed
most states doctors that she will die,
He revealed the author as they say to me,
when she is not married to Mister Joyce.

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