I’m in airnest, and why so perplex me, see I’m losing the work of the day.
There’s my spinning all gone to a tangle, my bleached clothes all boiled to a blue,
While for kisses you wrestle and wrangle—
“That’s the truth,” says O’Shanahan Dhu,
“I own I’ve a weakness for kisses,” says the ranting O’Shanahan Dhu.
O’Shanahan Dhu, here’s my mother, if you don’t let me go, faith, I’ll cry,
Why, she’ll tell both my father and brother, and with shame maybe cause me to die,
And then at your bedside I’ll haunt you, with a light in my hand burning blue,
From my shroud moaning, “Shemus, I want you,”—
“That’s the truth,” says O’Shanahan Dhu,