Three gypsies come to your hard door,
Oh, but they sang bonnie o'er,
They sang say meet him, say complete,
But they stole the hair from a lady o'er.
And she come tripping down the stairs,
To make them swap for a row,
And they spy their willful face,
They cast their spells out so low.
And she's kicked off her high-heeled shoes,
Made of Spanish leather,
oh,
Watch she's gone,
my young Johnny,
Far across the rocks in the heather,
oh.
Lord Cashel he come hammering,
Spearing far his lady o'er,
The maid she cried and she replied,
She's a war with the gypsy laddies,
oh.
He saddled to me the bonnie,
bonnie black,
For the broom was nurse's speedy o'er,
When he come to the water's side,
He spied his willful lady o'er.
Will you come home,
my honey in my heart,
Will you come home,
my lady o'er,
Did you forsake all your houses and your land,
Your lord and your fine Bernie o'er?
Last night I lay in a fine feather bed,
Sheets and blankets I cozy o'er,
This night I'll lie in a cold clay hole,
Proud in the arms of a gypsy o'er.