There's a woman in Ireland who'd give me shelter and my fill of ale
There's a woman in Ireland who'd prefer my singing to strings being played
There's a woman in Ireland who'd 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 more to a battalion,
and a hundred of them 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
A woman in night dress whose mein is better than herds of cows
With a woman who would deafen Ballymoyer and the plain of Tyrone
And I see no cure for my disease but to give up the drink