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 hills 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)