On the cuckoo is a funny bird
And it sings as it flies
It brings us good tidings
It tells us no lies
It s**s the young birds' eggs
To make its voice clear
And it never cries cuckoo
Till the summer is near
Oh were I at the Moss House
Where to birds do increase
At the foot of Mount Leinster
Or some silent place
By the streams of Bunclody
Where all pleasures do meet
And all I would ask
Is one kiss from you sweet
If I were a clerk
And could write a fine hand
I would write my love a letter
So she'd understand
But I'm just a poor boy
Who's wounded in love
Once I lived in Bunclody
But now I must leave
If I was a singing bird
Then I could fly
To some shady arbour
Where my true love does lie
I'd sing her a sweet song
And maybe she'd cry
Then on her sweet bosom
Contented I'd die
My love doesn't like me
You must understand
Because she has riches
And I have no land
I am going to America
My fortune to try
But when I think on Bunclody
I am ready to die