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