My heart is so tláithlag in the middle of my work,
comes lántocht in my chléibhse although humor I say,
is the inevitable deportation me from bhánbheannaibh Ireland
is trivial my life as a déarach my case,
I remember at the time that true love of my heart,
I did love, true love is surrender your chaomhroisc over all,
King of nÁrann Whitechurch, I would prefer that éagfainn
at my relatives and my white boy.

There ended Tell Failbhe that many long ndaorbhroid,
In exasperation, that tortured, imprisoned the enemy,
Or the real you must never be déarach,
A an island small majesty of saint bardic,
Oh, i extend high on the High Holy Father
for our most devastation of John,
Your riches banished abroad in their hundreds
are totally alone contributed about me from my white boy.

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