Oh, Who will plough the fields now or who will sow the corn? Who will mind the sheep now and keep them neatly shorn? The stack that's in the haggard, unthrashed it may remain Since Johnny's went a-thrashing the dirty king of Spain The girls from the bawnogue in sorrow may retire And the piper and his bellows go home and blow the fire Since Johnny, lovely Johnny is sailing o'er the main Along with other patriots to fight the King of Spain The boys will surely miss him when Moneymore comes round And they'll find that their bold captain is nowhere to be found And the peelers must stand idle, all against their will and main Since the gallant boys who gave them work now peels the King of Spain At wakes or hurling matches your like we'll never see Till you come back to us again a stor gra geal mo chroi And won't you thrash the buckeens that show us much disdain Because our eyes are not so bright as those you'll meet in Spain If cruel fate will not permit our Johnny to return His heavy loss we Bantry girls will never cease to mourn We'll resign ourselves to our sad lot and die in grief and pain Since Johnny died for Ireland's pride in the foreign land of Spain