Oh, Who will plough the fields now or who will sow the corn?
Who will mind the sheep now and keep them neatly shorn?
The stack that's in the haggard, unthrashed it may remain
Since Johnny's went a-thrashing the dirty king of Spain
The girls from the bawnogue in sorrow may retire
And the piper and his bellows go home and blow the fire
Since Johnny, lovely Johnny is sailing o'er the main
Along with other patriots to fight the King of Spain
The boys will surely miss him when Moneymore comes round
And they'll find that their bold captain is nowhere to be found
And the peelers must stand idle, all against their will and main
Since the gallant boys who gave them work now peels the King of Spain
At wakes or hurling matches your like we'll never see
Till you come back to us again a stor gra geal mo chroi
And won't you thrash the buckeens that show us much disdain
Because our eyes are not so bright as those you'll meet in Spain
If cruel fate will not permit our Johnny to return
His heavy loss we Bantry girls will never cease to mourn
We'll resign ourselves to our sad lot and die in grief and pain
Since Johnny died for Ireland's pride in the foreign land of Spain
