The Flower of Sweet Strabane

If I was king of Ireland with all things at my will,
I would roam for recreation, new comforts to find still.
But the comfort I would like the best, as you will understand,
Would be to gain that lovely maid, the flower of sweet Strabane.

Her cheeks were like the roses red, her hair of lovely brown
And over her milk-white shoulders in ringlets hanging down.
She is one of the fairest creatures of the whole Milesian clan,
Sure my heart is fairly captured by the flower of sweet Strabane.

But since I cannot win you, love, no joy there is for me,
I will seek forgetfulness in that land across the sea.
Unless you chance to follow me, I'll swear by my right hand,
McDonald's face you never will see, fair flower of sweet Strabane.

I wish I had my darling way down in Inishowen
Or in some lonesome valley in the wild woods of Tír Eoghain.
I would do my best endeavor, I would work my newest plan, 
For to gain you, lovely Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane.

I've often been in Phoenix Park and in Killarney fair, 
Likewise in bonny Scotland and the winding banks of Ayr.
But yet in all my travels, I never met with one
That I could compare to Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane.

Farewell to bonny Lifford and to Mourne waters' side,
I'm sailing for America, whatever may betide.
Our ship is bound for Liverpool, straight by the Isle of Man, 
So farewell my dearest Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane.