Ah, you muses I claim your attention,
I’ll sing you a sporting fine song.
Indeed it is not my intention,
To keep you waiting too long.
You know since this game went against me,
I’ve been sleeping out until dawn.
My spirits has completely left me,
Since Muirsín went to Bunnawn.

‘Twas often in deep conversation
Our language was plain and discreet.
But I was building on a sandy foundation,
That soon slipped away from my feet.
She found out some drops I was taking,
And staying out until dawn.
She packed up her boxes quiet hasty,
And she went for a fling to Bunnawn.

‘Twas often I drank with her father
Many the full saucepan of beer.
At fair days in Kenmare and Kilgarvan,
Sure nothing could part us my dear.
He used to be praising his daughters,
Saying they were handsome and calm.
But how quare and severe he turned after,
When Muirsín went to Bunnawn.

‘Tis often in the evening I rambled,
Bound for the west I was prone.
You could see me both racy and prancing,
Though very much being wantin’ at home.
‘Tis many the garden I trampled,
And fences I knocked in the morn.
But I gave up all my palaver with Yankees
Since Muirsín went to Bunnawn.

“This is from Coolea, in County Cork, written by the famous bard, Johnny "Nora Aodh" Twomey (Seán Ó Tuama) (1886-1928). According to the late Diarmuid Ó Súilleabhháin, Muirsín was a daughter of the composer; she later travelled further afield, to America.”
Jim Carroll