| O mo dhuthaich' stu th’air m’aire
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| Uibhist chumhraidh ur anan gallan,
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| Far a faighte na daoin' uaisle,
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| Far 'm bu dual do Mha 'ic Ailein.
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| Tir a' mhurain, tir an eorna
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| Tir 's am pailt a h-uile seorsa
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| Far am bi na gillean oga
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| Gabhail oran 's 'g ol an lionna
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| Thig iad ugainn, carach, seolta
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| Gus ar mealladh far ar n-eolais;
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| Molaidh iad dhuinn Manitoba,
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| Duthaich fhuar gun ghual, gun mhoine.
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| Cha leig mi leas a bhith 'ga innse,
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| Nuair a ruigear, 'sann a chithear,
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| Samhradh goirid foghar sitheil,
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| Geamhradh fada na droch-shide
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| Nam biodh agam fhin de storas
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| Da dheis aodaich, paidhir bhrogan
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| Agus m’fharadh bhith 'nam phoca
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| 'Sann air Uibhist dheanainn seoladh.
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| Oh My Country
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| O my country are on my mind
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| Fresh, fragrant Uist of the saplings,
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| Where the noble men are found
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| Who gave their hereditary allegiance to «Mac ic Ailein».
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| Land of seabed, land of barley
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| Land of abundance of every kind
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| Where the young lads will be
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| Singing songs and drinking beer
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| They will come to us cunning and wily
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| In order to entice us from our homes
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| They will praise Manitoba to us
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| A cold country with no coal and no peat!
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| I don’t need to say
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| That when we reach it we’ll see it
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| A short summer and a peaceful autumn
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| A long winter of bad weather.
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| If I had riches
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| A change of clothes and a pair of shoes
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| And my prayer in my pocket
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| It is to Uist that I would be sailing. |