In the year of sixteen hundred and fifty three
In Under-Uncton lived a man
A blacksmith by trade and a rude one was he
And member of the Bundy clan

It was a pleasant day in the month of May
The birds were whistling in the trees
The weather was fine and the sun shone so gay
The fields were waving softly in the breeze

Seamus MacBundy you better run
Run for all you are worth
Seamus Mac Bundy where are your sons
Where are your sons who are cursed?

He was working in his smithy when this fat witch came in
Complaining his work was late
She cursed his male descendants and she cursed him
Under-Uncton was thrown into the shade

Yes Under-Uncton was thrown into the shade
As dark as dark could have been
The village was dark by night and by day
No more the daylight was seen

Seamus MacBundy you better run...

So come all you jolly blacksmiths where ever you may be
Never mess with an old hag
Seamus MacBundy fled to Americee
No nay never to came back