If I were King of Ireland
And had all things at my will
I'd roam for recreation
 [bad word] to find still
But [bad word] I would seek the most
So that you may understand
Would be to win the heart of Martha
The Flower of Sweet Strabane

Her cheeks they are [bad word] 
Her hair a dove-soft brown
And o'er her milk white shoulders
It carelessly hangs down
She is the fairest creature
And the pride of all her clan
And my heart is captivated
By the flower of Sweet Strabane

But since I cannot gain her love
No joy there is for me
And I must seek to hide my tears
In the lands across the sea
Unless she cares to follow me
I swear by my right hand
McKenna's face you'll ne'er more see
My Flower of Sweet Strabane