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Lyrics: |
English Translation: |
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Ar mo dhul dom siar chun Droichead Uí Mhórdhal |
As I set out with pike in hand |
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Píce im dhóid is mé ag dul i meitheal |
To old Dromore to join a meitheal |
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Cé chasfail orm i gcumar ceoidh |
Who should I meet but a tan puck goat |
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Ach pocán crón is é ar buile |
And he roaring mad in a ferocious mettle |
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Curfá: |
Chorus (after each verse): |
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Aillilliú, puilliliú, ailliliú, tá an poc ar buile |
Aillilliú, puilliliú, ailliliú, tá an poc ar buile |
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Aillilliú, puilliliú, ailliliú, tá an poc ar buile |
Aillilliú, puilliliú, ailliliú, tá an poc ar buile |
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Do ritheamar trasna trí ruilleogach |
He chased me over bush and weed |
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Is do ghluais an comhrac ar fud na muinge |
And through the bog the run proceded |
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Is treascairt dá bhfuair se sna turtóga |
'Til he caught his horns in a clump of gorse |
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Chuas ina aoinneaoin ar a dhroim le fuinneamh |
And on his back I jumped unheaded |
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Bhí garda mór i mBaile an Róistigh |
When the sergeant stood in Rochestown |
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Is bhailigh fórsaí chun sinn a chlipeadh |
With a force of guards to apprehend us |
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Do bhuail sé rop dá adhairc sa tóin air |
The goat, he tore his trousers down |
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Is dá bhristi nua do dhein se giobail |
And made rags of his breeches and new suspenders |
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I nDaingean uí Chúise le haghaidh an tráthnóna |
In Dingle the following afternoon |
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Bhí an sagart paróiste amach inár gcoinnibh |
The parish priest came to call us to order |
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Is é dúirt gurbh é an diabhal ba dhóigh leis |
And he swore from the pulpit each Sunday in June |
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A ghaibh an treo ar phócan buile |
'Twas the devil on the back of his old grandfather |
