On a Monday morning early, as my wandering steps did lead me;
Down by a farmer’s station through meadows and green lawn.
I heard a great commotion as the small birds they were warbling,
Saying, ‘We’ll have no more engagements with the boys of Mullaghbawn.’
Squire Jackson he’s unequalled, for honour and for reasoning.
He never turned a traitor or deny the rights of man.
But now we are endangered by a vile deceiving stranger,
Who has ordered transportation, for the boys of Mullaghbawn.
As these fellows crossed the ocean, sure I’m told the ship in motion
Would start in wild commotion, as if the seas ran dry.
The trout and salmon gaping as the cuckoo left its station,
Saying, ‘Farewell to old Killeavey and the hills of Mullaghbawn.’
So to end my lamentation, we are all in consternation,
For want of education I now must end my song.
No cares for recreation, but without consideration,
We were sent for transportation from the hills of Mullaghbawn.