Amhrán an PhoitínThe Poteen Song
English (machine translation)
Poitín nice thing in this country, he would pay rent for poor law,
Oh, it cure coughing at night and it would focus the crooked old man,
Oh, seanbheainín was behind in the Estuary, but it was not any one chaoirín,
There was a grain of pipe tobacco but straw stuck up through his middle.
Well, she bought bairillín seed,
With the hope that a better,
But it was just that the pot is coming around,
When John White came out on the street.
Well, John Black, you sháraí not the night, is not you sháraí the month you are there,
And not thaga family up in a position that will put you a program sheet,
As you are worse than the ghost is the ghost, is a spirit of lust before day,
And raised their deabhal with a srúill you would not account poitín found.
Well, the thing is pretty poitín in this country, most of the cider thaganns hell,
Nice as it hung my mind, and that he would stunning in my head.
Forgiveness not you fhaighe choíchin, is that for every payment you steam '
Sean Walsh and interests not thee till death, under the eleventh five gallons of liquor,
Mara saw only smoke a pipe, from Muta, a trench or valley,
You significantly worse than the wolf, which ghoidfeadh goose from brood.
From Costello may you go to Inver, ever since it was the former entertainment opportunity,
And that often déantaí holiday was going around the house when he was there,
Well, the nice thing in this country poitín he would pay rent for poor law,
Oh, it cure coughing at night and it would focus the crooked old man.
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