Oh, who will plow the fields all day and who will thrash the corn? Who will tend the sheep now and see them neatly shorn? The stack that's in the haggard, unthrashed it may remain Now that Johnny's gone a-thrashing all in the wars of Spain The girls from the bawnogue in sorrow may retire And the piper with his bellows may go home and blow the fire For Johnny, lovely Johnny is sailing o'er the main Along with the other patriots to fight the King of Spain The boys will surely miss him when Moneymore comes around And they'll weep that their bold captain is nowhere to be found And the peerlers may stand idle, all against their will and main Since the gallant boy who gave them work now peels the King of Spain At wakes and hurling matches your like we'll never see Till you come back to us again a stor gra geal mo chroi Then won't you thrash the buckeens that show us such disdain Because our eyes are not so bright as those you'll see in Spain If cruel fate should not allow our Johnny to return His heavy loss we Bantry girls will never cease to mourn We'll resign ourselves to our sad lot and live in grief and pain Since Johnny died for freedom's sake in the foreign land of Spain