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Ushag veg ruy ny moanee doo
Moanee doo. moanee doo
Ushag veg ruy ny moanee doo
C'raad chaddil oo riyr 'syn oie?

Nagh chaddil mish riyr er baare y crouw
Baare y crouw, baare y crouw
Lesh fliaghey tuittym er dagh cheu
As ogh! my chadley cha treih

Nagh chaddil mish riyr er baare y dress
Baare y dress, baare y dress
Tra va' gheay sheidey v'ey gymmyrkey Ihee
As ogh! my chadley cha treih

Chaddil mish riyr eddyr daa ghuilbag
Eddyr daa ghuillag, eddyr daa ghuilag
Myr cadley yn oikan er keeagh y vummig
As O! my chadley cha kuine

Little red bird of the black peat ground 
Black peat ground, black peat ground 
Little red bird of the black peat ground 
Where did you sleep last night? 

Did I not sleep last night on the top of the bush 
On the top of the bush, on the top of the bush 
With rain falling on every side 
And oh! wretched was my sleep 

Did I not sleep last night on the top of the briar… 
While the wind was blowing all around 
And oh! wretched was my sleep 

Did I not sleep last night on top of the wave… 
Where many a man’s son slept before me 
And oh! wretched was my sleep 

I slept last night between two leaves… 
As the baby sleeps on the breast of the mother 
And oh! my sleep was good

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My Bonnie lies over the ocean
My Bonnie lies over the sea
My Bonnie lies over the ocean
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me

Bring back, bring back
Bring back my Bonnie to me, to me
Bring back, bring back
Bring back my Bonnie to me

Last night as I lay on my pillow
Last night as I lay on my bed
Last night as I lay on my pillow
I dreamt that my Bonnie was dead

Oh blow the winds o’er the ocean
And blow the winds o’er the sea
Oh blow the winds o’er the ocean
And bring back my Bonnie to me

The winds have blown over the ocean
The winds have blown over the sea
The winds have blown over the ocean
And brought back my Bonnie to me

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Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn,
The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn.
But where is the boy, who looks after the sheep?
He's under a haystack, he's fast asleep.
Will you wake him? No, not I,
For if I do, he's sure to cry.

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Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
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