Were I at the moss house, where the birds do increase
At the foot of Mount Leinster or in some silent place
By the streams of Bunclody where all pleasures do meet
And all I would ask is one kiss from you sweet.

Oh the streams of Bunclody they flow down so free,
By the streams of Bunclody I’m longing to be,
A drinking stron liquor in the height of my cheer,
Here’s a health to Bunclody and the lad I love dear.

The cuckoo is apretty bird, He sings as he flies
He brings us good tidings, and tells us no lies,
He sucks the young birds’ eggs to make this voice clear,
And the more he cries cuckoo the summer draws near.

If I were a clerk and could write a good hand,
I would write to my true-love that he migh understand,
For I am a young lassie who is wounded in love
Once I lived in Bunclody, but now must remove.

T’is why my love slights me, as you may understand,
That he has a freehold and I have no land,
He has great store of riches, and a large sum of gold,
And everything fitting in house to uphold.

So fare thee well father and my mother, adieu
My sisters and borthers farewell unto you,
I am bound for America my fortune to try,
When I think on Bunclody I’m ready to die.