Connacht's West in my accommodation,
and not far from the town where I live,
Sheolfainn ship the first months' harvest,
and I'd spend the winter, my darling.

Spleoid you, to Springfield, you are a sham,
is that you walk around Ireland around,
I would put my two hands under the neck shining sea,
and whether it is evil which I would be talking to you.

My bhunadhsa went back to Scotland
make dating a British boy,
when I thought that it was a young boy,
Although I was only married widow.

Know the great life is not my favorite widow
But nice young lads would he smile,
A labharfadh me quietly that birdsong
is a quiet conversation involving me during the night.

I pity not today and not tomorrow I pity,
My house is empty and without I have potato,
No I tear brightest milk or water,
is I've a young child m'fhortún broken.

Scríobhfainn pencil paper letter,
is éinneach does not know where is my love-in,
If you do not have money white sheep,
Give the child to them, he ordered his mother.

Today and tomorrow och Och,
och 'all day but no matter och chan,
a story I have heard that I broke,
is my mhallachtsa permanent whoever my love did me.

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