Oh who will plough the fields and who will sell the corn?
And who will wash the sheep and have them nicely shorn?
The stack that's in the haggard unthreshed it may remain
Since Johnny's gone a-thrashing the dirty King of Spain.
The girls from the Bawnogue in sorrow may retire
And the piper and his bellows may go home and blow the fire
For Johnny, lovely Johnny, is sailing on the main
Along with other patriots to fight the King of Spain.
The boys will sorely miss him when Moneymore comes around
And grieve that their bold captain is nowhere to be found.
The peelers must stand idle against their will and grain
For the valiant boy who gave them work now fields the King of Spain.
At wakes and hurling matches your likes we'll never see
Till you come back to us again a stóirin óg mo chroí
And won't you thrash the buckeens who show us such disdain
Because our eyes are not so black as those that you see in Spain.
If cruel fate will not permit our Johnny to return
His heavy loss we Bantry girls will never cease to mourn
We resign ourselves to our sad fates - die in grief and pain
Since Johnny died for Ireland's pride in the foreign land of Spain.
