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Chuaigh mise lá síos ’na trá A bhaint pota bruidéirí, Cé tharlaigh ormsa ins an tráigh Ach Nansaí Bhán Nic Giobarlaí.
Curfá: Ím bím bó, a dheartháir ó, Nach méanar a gheobhadh le mealladh í, Cead síneadh síos lena cúl buí seang Agus focal cainte a labhairt léi.
Is duitse, a Nansaí, a thug mé fansaí Mar bhí tú caoimheamhail ceansa cóir, Níorbh fhaide liom an t-am go mbeinn is tú ag caint, Mo dhá lámh teannta tharat aniar.
Curfá
Tá ceann buí óir ar an óigmhnaoi, Is nár dheas a dealramh leis an ghréin, A brollach bán mar an eala ar snámh, Ceann a dhá lámh is barr a méar.
Dá mbeinnse anuraidh mar a bhí mé inné, Choinneochainn m’intinn agam féin, Ní ligfinn mo rún le aon fhear faoin ghréin Agus bheadh sí i gcónaí agam féin.
Day I went down 'the beach Removing bruidéirí pot, Who happened to me in the beach But Nic White Nansaí Giobarlaí.
Chorus: I'm butter cow, a brother from, not to attract blessed to receive it, Permission stretching down her slender yellow back and talk to talk to her word.
It is you, who Nansaí, I gave fansaí As you were just caoimheamhail meek, not the longer I that I am as you are talking, my two hands pass resilient inflated.
Chorus
One of the óigmhnaoi yellow gold, is not that right with the sun appeared, A white breast as the swan floating, One to two top finger hand.
If I was last year as I was yesterday, Choinneochainn my own mind, I would not let my secret to no man under the sun and I would always her own.
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