Here is a nice song that drove me crazy trying to figure out the lyrics, until I found out that it wasn't in Gaeilge but Gàidhlig. I hope you like it.
I missed this thread back when it started. In case you want the words, and a pretty decent translation (not mine), here they are.
Just noticed you already have the lyrics at that site (I thought it was an audio link), but I'll leave this in case anyone wants to copy them out in this cleaner format.
Sèist (Chorus - after each verse):
Ho ro i a bhi o ho
Chall eileadh a ro ho
Ho ro i a bhi o ho
Chall o ho ro bhi
Ach a Thomais 'ic Uilleim,
bu tu 'n companach munaidh,
anns na coilltichean urrad.
Fhuair thu urram na seilg'.
Gur a buidheach mi m' chéile,
thug an gunn' á Dùn-eideann.
Dhomh-sa b' aithne do bheusan
‘s cha bu léir dhomh do ghiamh
‘S toigh leam àiridh nam badan,
far am b' éibhinn leam cadal,
's am biodh fasgadh ri gaillionn,
aig aighean 's aig laoigh.
Agus frith nan dàmh donna,
's nan ceannardan troma,
leam bu mhiann dol 'n an coinneamh,
'n uair a chromadh a' ghrian.
Le 'm chuilbheir caol cùbhraidh,
ann am achlais 'ga giùlan,
laoidh ghlas air a h-ùrlar,
bheir tuill ùr air am bian.
Spor thana gheur dhù-ghorm,
'n déidh a glasadh 's a dlùthadh,
'chuireadh sradag ri fùdar,
nuair a lùbainn mo mhiar
Mharbhainn dràchd agus lacha,
agus tàrmachan creachainn,
's earbag riabhach nam badan,
'theid roimh 'n mhaduinn 'na fiamh.
As in many songs, the chorus doesn't really translate. There are a couple of real words, but it's the rhythm and sound that matters
Oh Thomas, son of William,
you were my moorland companion,
in the high forests.
You won renown in hunting.
I thank my servant,
who brought the gun from Edinburgh.
I knew of your excellent quality,
and I saw no defect.
I like the wooded shieling,
where I was happy to sleep,
where there would be shelter from storms,
For heifers and calves.
And the forest of the red stags,
of the heavy-antlered heads,
how I loved to meet with them,
With my slender, sweet-powdered gun,
carried under my arm,
gray lead on the forest floor,
would produce new holes in their hides.
On bending my finger,
the thin, sharp, blue-black gun flint,
having locked and fired,
would inflame the powder.
I would kill drake and wild duck,
and the ptarmigan of the mountain,
and the little roe of the woodland,
will retrace her steps before morning.