Lyrics:

Is ioma� sl� sin a bh�os ag daoine
Ag cruinni� p�osa� is ag d�anamh st�ir,
Is a laghad a smaoin�os ar ghiorra an tsaoil seo
Go mbeidh siad s�nte faoi leac go f�ill.
M�s tiarna t�re, di�c n� r� th�,
N� rachaidh pingin leat is t� ag dul faoin bhf�d.
Mar sin is d� bhr� sin n�l beart n�os cr�onna
N� bheith go s�orra� ag cur preab son �l.

An long thar s�ile n�l cuan n� cearda
Nach gcaithfeadh cairde ar fud an domhain mh�ir
� r�ocht na Sp�inne agus suas Gibraltar
Agus ins an �it a mb�onn an Grand Senor.
Le gach lasta ag l�onadh m�la�
N� choinneodh an b�s uaidh uair n� dh�.
Mar sin, a chairde, n�l beart n�os fearr d�inn
N� bheith mar t�imid ag cur preab san �l.
(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