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)