Is iomaם slם sin a bhםos ag daoine
ag cruinniת pםosaם is ag dיanamh stףir,
is a laghad a smaoinםos ar ghiorra an tsaoil seo
go mbeidh siad sםnte faoi leac go fףill.
Mבs tiarna tםre, diתc nף rם thת,
nם rachaidh pingin leat is tת ag dul faoin bhfףd.
Mar sin is dב bhrם sin nםl beart nםos crםonna
nב bheith go sםorraם ag cur preab son ףl.

An long thar sבile nםl cuan nף cearda
nach gcaithfeadh cairde ar fud an domhain mhףir
ף rםocht na Spבinne agus suas Gibraltar
Agus ins an בit a mbםonn an Grand Senor.
Le gach lasta ag lםonadh mבlaם
nם choinneodh an bבs uaidh uair nף dhף.
Mar sin, a chairde, nםl beart nםos fearr dתinn
nב bheith mar tבimid ag cur preab san ףl.

Why spend your leisure bereft of pleasure
A massing treasure why scrape and save?
Why look so canny at ev'ry penny?
You'll take no money within the grave
Landlords and gentry with all their plenty
Must still go empty where e'er they're bound
So to my thinking we'd best be drinking
Our glasses clinking and round and round

King Solomon's glory, so famed in story
Was far outshone by the lillies guise
But hard winds harden both field and garden
Pleading for pardon, the lily dies
Life's but a bauble of toil and trouble
The feathered arrow, once shot ne'er found
So, lads and lasses, because life passes
Come fill your glasses for another round

The huckster greedy, he blinds the needy
Their strifes unheeding, shouts "Money down!"
This special vices, his fancy prices
For a florin value he'll charge a crown
With hump for tramel, the scripture's chamel
Missed the needle's eye and so came to ground
Why pine for riches, while still you've stitches
To hold your britches up? Another round!

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