Lyrics:

Is iomaÝ slÝ sin a bhÝos ag daoine
Ag cruinniê pÝosaÝ is ag dÙanamh stãir,
Is a laghad a smaoinÝos ar ghiorra an tsaoil seo
Go mbeidh siad sÝnte faoi leac go fãill.
MÑs tiarna tÝre, diêc nã rÝ thê,
NÝ rachaidh pingin leat is tê ag dul faoin bhfãd.
Mar sin is dÑ bhrÝ sin nÝl beart nÝos crÝonna
NÑ bheith go sÝorraÝ ag cur preab son ãl.

An long thar sÑile nÝl cuan nã cearda
Nach gcaithfeadh cairde ar fud an domhain mhãir
ã rÝocht na SpÑinne agus suas Gibraltar
Agus ins an Ñit a mbÝonn an Grand Senor.
Le gach lasta ag lÝonadh mÑlaÝ
NÝ choinneodh an bÑs uaidh uair nã dhã.
Mar sin, a chairde, nÝl beart nÝos fearr dêinn
NÑ bheith mar tÑimid ag cur preab san ãl.
(Rest in English):

Why spend your leisure bereft of
Pleasure
A massing treasure why scrape and save?
Why look so canny at ev'ry penny?
You'll take no money within the grave
Landlords and gentry with all their plenty
Must still go empty where e'er they're bound
So to my thinking we'd best be drinking
Our glasses clinking and round and round

King Solomon's glory, so famed in story
Was far outshone by the lillies guise
But hard winds harden both field and garden
Pleading for pardon, the lily dies
Life's but a bauble of toil and trouble
The feathered arrow, once shot ne'er found
So, lads and lasses, because life passes
Come fill your glasses for another round

The huckster greedy, he blinds the needy
Their strifes unheeding, shouts 'Money down!'
This special vices, his fancy prices
For a florin value he'll charge a crown
With hump for tramel, the scripture's chamel
Missed the needle's eye and so came to ground
Why pine for riches, while still you've stitches
To hold your britches up? Another round