There's a woman in ireland who'd give me a gem and my fill to drink
There's a woman in ireland to whom my singing is sweeter than the music of strings
There's a woman in ireland who would much prefer me leaping
Than laid in the clay and my belly under the sod
There's a woman in ireland who'd envy me if I got naught but a kiss
From a woman at a fair, isn't it strange, and the love I have for them
There's a woman I'd prefer to a battalion, and a hundred of them whom I will never get
And an ugly, swarthy man with no english has a beautiful girl
There's a woman who would say that if I walked with her I'd get the gold
And there's the woman of the shirt whose mien is better than herds of cows
With a woman who would deafen baile an mhaoir and the plain of tyrone
And I see no cure for my disease but to give up the drink
