Gypsy Girl, oh twisty pearl

Sat upon the stoney pale mare

Beltane Eve, by the fires you grieve

With your deep Babylonian hair



(chorus)

Blessed Wild Apple Girl move along now

Blessed Wild Apple Girl move along now

Blessed Wild Apple Girl



Gypsy girl, oh twisty girl

Your hands are dangled with flowers

Tangled torn, so stately born

For a throne in the (hill) halls of Ireland



(chorus)



Fools have said the gills are dead

But her nose is a rose of the Shee

A silver sword by an ancient ford

Was my gift from this child of the trees



(chorus to end)