I gave the run from the Well Son of Woodstock and send you down the slope,
From County Meath to Loch Derg of the Saints and up Croagh Patrick,
And I walked in I did not hear any music for organ, flute or harp,
As the lunch was in the church of Mayo priest of fair hair.

If you ever go to County Mayo, add a man of the Joyce Country,
and you get to join you in the roadway, as an angel from the kingdom of glory,
Téirigh on your knees and recite it to a resolution that sinner you moved in every part,
is an hour of our death in the heavens that priest of obtaining from the fair hair.

Rise up and set out walking to find the priest of fair hair,
who left us last night and will not return to his death as he is submerged in Lough Erne,
Rise up and set out walking to get that from the Pope,
is to get a lease on a house Mayo priest community of fair hair.

County Mayo is oppressed lost forever from the only son Joyce,
is that pride would anyone live to see him in cloth Sunday,
would you go seal in the clay and the grace he received from Christ,
and it would inform the person would not be fair and it would teach them just the guide.

Is not surprised me if would light the air and stars as black as sloes,
the shining of the sun is from the moon itself from loss of fixed local,
Prayer is clay, that the twelve apostles, is in honor of King Glory,
No we put in the clay that explains the story of a priest of the fair hair.

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