There's a woman in Erin who'd give me shelter and my fill of ale;

There's a woman in Ireland who'd prefer my strains to strings being played;

There's a woman in Eirinn and nothing would please her more

Than to see me burning or in a grave lying cold.



There's a woman in Eirinn who'd be mad with envy if I was kissed

By another on fair-day, they have strange ways, but I love them all;

There are women I'll always adore, battalions of women and more

And there's this sensuous beauty and she shackled to an ugly boar.



There's a woman who promised if I'd wander with her I'd find some gold

A woman in night dress with a loveliness worth more than the woman

Who vexed Ballymoyer and the plain of Tyrone;

And the only cure for my pain I'm sure is the ale-house down the road.