In the greenish fields of Athenry,
A pretty wound I give
To anyone who suffers,
Who's pining sick, who grieves.
It's has three leaves, a sharp stem, and a core
As green as eyes of goblin
Who follow you no more.
I carve your arm, I maim you
- I piously leave my mark
- to stop the moanful bleeding
While you're remaing stark...
To find the rightful remedy,
You shouldn't make a wish
- just grab a pint of wallop,
And let your sadness stream.
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