O hì-o-hà, how hard is the chailleach!
O hì-o-hà, how cold is the chailleach!
O rè-o-rà, she's spiteful the chailleach!
Myself was the foolish young booby.
If I go to a fair, or a feast, or a wedding
She's jealous the while, and herself at the
township
If ever I cast a sweet eye on a lass,
What a grudge she'd be having against me!
If myself's at the bothy, nor buying a
mutchkin,
At table and sitting and never a dram,
She'll come sniffing her nose and shaking
her fist,
All the folks will be crowding about us.