Let Bacchus' sons be not dismayed
with me, each jovial blade
Come, drink and sing and lend your aid
To help me with the chorus:
Instead of spa, we'll drink brown ale
And pay the reckoning
on the nail;
No man for debt shall go to jail
From Garryowen in glory.
We'll beat the bailiffs out of fun,
make the mayor and sheriffs run
We are the boys no man dares dun
If he regards a whole skin.
hearts so stout have got no fame
For soon 'tis known from whence we came
Where'er we go they fear the name