Oh the praties they grow small over here Oh the praties they grow small over here Oh the praties they grow small And way up in Donegal We eat them skins and all over here, over here Oh I wish that we were geese, night and morn Oh I wish that we were geese, night and morn Oh I wish that we were geese 'Til the hour of our release When we'd live and die in peace, stuffing corn, stuffing corn Oh, they'll grind us into dust over here Oh, they'll grind us into dust over here Oh, they'll grind us into dust But the Lord in whom we trust Will return us crumb for crust over here, over here