Gipsy Girl, oh twisty pearl
Sat upon the stony 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

Gipsy girl, oh twisty girl
Your hands are dangled with flowers
Tangled torn, so stately born
For a throne in the hill of the Island

(chorus)

Fools have said the hills are dead
But her nose is a rose of the Shea
A silver sword by an ancient fort
For my gifts from this child of the trees

(chorus to end)