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Dá mbeinn fhéin in Aird Tí ChuainIn aice an tsléibhe úd atá i bhfad uaim, B’annamh liom gan dul ar cuaird Go gleann na gcuach Dé Domhnaigh.
Curfá: Agus och och Éire uilig is ó, Éire lionn dubh is ó, Sé mo chroí atá trom agus brónach.
Is mó Nollaig a thána féin Go bun Abhainn Doinne is mé gan chéill, Ag iomáin ar an dtráigh bhán ’S mo chamán fhoinse im láimh agam.
Curfá
Nach tuirseach mise anso liom fhéin, Ná hairím guth coiligh, lon dubh ná traon’, Gealbhan, smólach, an naosach fhéin ’S ná hairím fhéin an Domhnach.
If I regard myself in Harbour House Near the mountain in question is far away, I rarely go without circuit That valley curly Sunday.
Chorus: Och och Ireland and most of all, Melancholy is from Ireland, It's my heart heavy and sad.
Most Christmas own Thana Brown river bottom as I senseless, Hurling the white strand In my hand I hurley source butter.
Chorus
I tired that I personally herein, Do hairím voice cocks, blackbird or corncrake, Sparrow, thrush, the elderly people self And a self hairím Sunday.
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