Far far from the isle of the holy and grand
Where wild oxen fatten and brave men are banned
All lowly and low in a far distant land
Do I wander and pine for poor Erin
 [bad word] 
Lonely and sad I roam, far from my island home
Where the wild waves, surging foams, headlands appearing
Clouded in silv'ry spray, thrashing through heaven's bright ray
For the glory and pride of poor Erin

Sweet, sweet Inis Cathaigh that's sacred and blessed
fit place for a saint or a warrior's rest
O God that a bear should be best of his brood
Who now bites your beauty my Erin
 [bad word] 

How dearly I long to wander once more
To the old ones I left round my own cabin door
My blessings I give ten thousand times o'er
With a prayer and a tear for poor Erin
 [bad word] 

Sad, sad is my fate in weary exile
Dark, dark are the night clouds round lone Shanakyle
Your murdered sleep silently pile upon pile
In the coffinless graves of poor Erin
 [bad word] 

I am watching and praying through the length of the night
For the grey dawn of freedom my signal to fight
My rifle is ready my sabre is bright
For to strike once again for poor Erin

Lonely and sad I roam, far from my island home
Where the wild waves, surging foams, headlands appearing
Clouded in silv'ry spray, thrashing through heaven's bright ray
For the glory and pride of poor Erin