As Jack the jolly ploughboy was ploughing through the land,
He turned his share and shouted to bid his horses stand,
Then down beside his team he sat, contented as a king,
And Jack he sang his song so sweet he made the mountains ring
    With his Ta-ran-nan nanty na,
    Sing ta-ran-nan nanty na,
  While the mountains all ringing re-echoed the singing
    Of Ta-ran-nan nanty na.

'Tis said old England's sailors, when wintry tempests roar,
Will plough the stormy waters and pray for those on shore;
But through the angry winter the share, the share for me, 
To drive a steady furrow, and pray for those at sea.
    With my Ta-ran-nan nanty na, etc.

When heaven above is bluest, and earth most green below,
Away from wife and sweetheart the fisherman must go;
But golden seed I'll scatter beside the girl I love,
And smile to hear the cuckoo, and sigh to hear the dove,
    With my Ta-ran-nan nanty na, etc.

'Tis oft the hardy fishers a scanty harvest earn,
And gallant tars from glory on wooden legs return,
But a bursting crop for ever shall dance before my flail,
For I'll live and die a farmer all in the Golden Vale.
    With my Ta-ran-nan nanty na, etc.