The cold wind from the mountains is whistling past me ear,
I find no scent of heather only porter and stale beer,
I stand outside a Public House all in the pale moonlight,
In the street of Shanagolden on this cold winters night.

My mind goes back to other days when I used to sport and play,
I worked for local farmers at the saving of the hay,
I worked from rising of the sun until the pale moonlight,
For the farmers of Shanagolden would keep you out all night.

There came the call to arms but I didn't hear the call,
And when the Tans were passing I hid inside the wall,
But when the war was over 'twas I was full of fight,
In the pubs of Shanagolden and th'oul pension was alright.

It was just a short few hours ago my pockets were well lined,
I walked with independent air the dole cheque I had signed,
The Barman opened wide his door he spoke in accents light,
Ah you're welcome to Shanagolden on this cold winters night.

I stood to every Tom and Dick to every Dave and Dan,
They slapped me on the shoulders saying, "You're a dacent man"
My heart did overflow with pride and I sang with all my might,
Of the 'Fields of Shanagolden' on a lonely summers night.

A pretty Lass sat on my knee I daren't breathe her name,
Her thoughts were full of licker and eyes were full of game,
As fast as I could buy the stuff she drank vodka mixed with white,
And we kissed in Shanagolden on that glorious winters night.

But then my money was all gone and so were Tom and Dick,
The Barman's eyes grew colder when I tried to drink on tick,
Herself was with another man drinking vodka mixed white,
And I cried in Shanagolden on that cold winters night.

So all you men who take strong drink take this advice from me,
The dole-cheque is hard earned, lads don't use it foolishly,
Don't spend your cash in one mad splash or you will share my plight,
And be bust in Shanagolden, Good night my friends, Good night.