Oh the praties they grow small over here
Oh the praties they grow small over here
Oh the praties they grow small
And way up in Donegal
We eat them skins and all over here, over here

Oh I wish that we were geese, night and morn
Oh I wish that we were geese, night and morn
Oh I wish that we were geese
'Til the hour of our release
When we'd live and die in peace, stuffing corn, stuffing corn

Oh, they'll grind us into dust over here
Oh, they'll grind us into dust over here
Oh, they'll grind us into dust
But the Lord in whom we trust
Will return us crumb for crust over here, over here