Mná Na Héireann

  Am     Asus4 Am  D/A     D7/A D6/A  Am           D/A
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  Am7            D/A          Asus2           D/A
|  /  /  /  /  |  /  /  /  / |  /  /  /  /  |  /  /  /  /  |

[Verse 1]
           Am7                 D/A
Tá bean in Éirinn a phronnfadh séad domh
      Am          D/A
Is mo sháith le n-ól
              Am7                 D/A
Is tá bean in Éirinn is ba bhinne léithe
   Cadd9  D              G
Mo ráfla  ceoil ná seinm théad
            Em               Dsus2      Cadd9
Atá bean in Éirinn is níorbh fhearr léi beo
        Am7                   D          Cadd9  D    G
Mise ag léimnigh nó leagtha i gcré is mo thárr  faoi fhód

[Verse 2]
           Am7      Cadd9     D
Tá bean in Éirinn a bheadh ag éad liom
     Am7             D
Mur' bhfaighfinn ach póg
           Am7          Cadd9  D
Ó bhean ar aonach, nach ait an scéala,
      Cadd9       D               G
Is mo dháimh féin leo, tá bean ab fhearr liom
           Em               Dsus2       Cadd9
Nó cath is céad dhíobh nach bhfagham go deo
             Am7          Cadd9    D
Is tá cailín spéiriúil ag fear gan Bhéarla,
     Cadd9 D   G
Dubhghránna   cróin

[Violin Break]
  Am     Asus4 Am  D/A     D7/A D6/A  Am           D/A
| /  /  /  /__/  |  /  /  /  /___/ |  /  /  /  / |  /  /  /  / |

  Am7            D/A          Asus2           D/A
|  /  /  /  /  |  /  /  /  / |  /  /  /  /  |  /  /  /  /  |

[Verse 3]
          Am7         D/A
Tá bean a déarfadh dá siulfainn léi
   Am              D/A
Go bhfaighinn an t-ór
               Am7              D/A
Is tá bean 'na léine is fearr a méin
      Cadd9  D            G
Ná na táinte bó le bean a bhuairfeadh
         Em        Dsus2     Cadd9
Baile an Mhaoir is clár Thír Eoghain,
              Am7                   D/A      Cadd9    D  G
Is ní fheicim leigheas ar mo ghalar féin ach scaird a dh'ól

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There's a woman in Ireland who'd give me a gem,
And my fill to drink,
There's a woman in Ireland,
To whom my singing is sweeter than the music of strings,
There's a woman in Ireland,
Who would much prefer me leaping,
Than laid in the clay and my belly under the sod

There's a woman in Ireland who'd envy me,
If I got naught but a kiss from a woman at a fair,
Isn't it strange and the love I have for them,
There's a woman I'd prefer to a battalion,
And a hundred of them whom I will never get,
And an ugly, swarthy man with no English has a beautiful girl

There's a woman who would say,
That if I walked with her I'd get the gold,
And there's the woman of the shirt
Whose mien is better than herds of cows,
With a woman who would deafen Baile an Mhaoir
And the plain of Tyrone,
And I see no cure for my disease, but to have a drink