Traditional Irish

Lyrics

Come all you young fellows
That follow the gun
Beware of shooting
By the late setting sun
Oh it could happen to anyone
As it happened to me
To shoot your own true love
In under a tree.

She was going to her uncle’s
When a shower came on
And she ran beneath a bush
The rain for to shun
With her apron wrapped around her
I took her for a swan
And I levelled my gun and
I shot my own Molly Bahn.

I ran to my father
In haste and great fear
Crying Father, oh Father
I shot my own Molly dear
With her apron all around her
I took her for a swan
But oh, and alas it was
My own Molly Bahn.

My father said to me
My son, don’t run away
Don’t run from your home until
The law has had its say
Stay in your own country
’Til the trial comes on
For there’s no judge who’ll hang you for
The shooting of a swan.

Oh the maids in my village
No tears will they shed
When they hear the sad news that
My Molly is dead
Take them all in their hundreds
Put them all in a row
Molly Bahn shone out above them
Like a mountain of snow.