There was auld wans and young wans and all sorts of wild ones
Piebalds and ponys, and big horses, small ones hands high,
Sulkys and traps, carriages and chaps
That were merry, more rowdy, I passed them all by.
There were mounted Guardaí, and fine looking young ladies
Cat calling right fellahs whistled as the girls caught their eye
The women responded with insults and gestures
That the lads got their answers no one could deny.
There was piebalds drinking and washing, their owners were clashing*
Outdoing each other in insults, hoping the other will die
I, a passer, looked at these chaps who were still sober
More sense in the horses at peace there in the River Suck as I walked on by.
The week between the fairs it was quiet, it was like a ghost town,
That it was the fair week, no one would have known
Though when the fairs were on there was plenty, between the green was empty
Like spirits in the night, from the town the traders had flown.
There was stands of the traders, disgruntled neighbours
Who grumbled about how their lives were disrupted each year
I hope they don’t get together, or this week of good times and good weather
Could be under threat as we for the future of Banagher Fair fear.
In all of the places, there were happy faces,
Of families, all classes, enjoying all that was there…
One of our traditions, enjoyed for generations…
All it was well at the Ballinasloe Fair.
(Dialect, North Leinster, Ulster English)