Irish Folk Song - An Poc Ar Buile / The Mad Puck Goat

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The lyrics and translation might be wrong, feel free to correct me about the lyrics.

Lyrics:
Ag gabháil dom sior chun Droichead Uí Mhóradha,
Píce im dhóid’s mé ag dul i meithil,
Cé casfaí orm i gcuma ceoidh,
Ach pocán crón is é ar buile.

Ailliliú, puilliliú, ailliliú tá an puc ar buile!
Ailliliú, puilliliú, ailliliú tá an puc ar buile!

Do ritheamar trasna trí ruillógach,
Is do ghluais an comhrac ar fud na muinge,
Is treascairt do bhfuair sé sna turtóga,
Chuas ina ainneoin ina dhrom le fuinneamh.

Níor fhág sé carraig go raibh scót ann,
Ná gur rith le fórsa chun mé a mhilleadh,
S'Ansan sea do cháith sé an léim ba mhó,
Le fána mhór na Faille Bríce.

Bhí garda mór i mBaile an Róistigh,
Is bhailigh fórsa chun sinn a chlipeadh,
Do bhuail sé rop dá adhairc sa tóin ann,
S'dá bhríste nua do dhein sé giobail.

I nDaingean Uí Chúis le haghaidh an tráthnóna,
Bhí an sagart paróiste amach 'nár gcoinnibh,
Is é dúirt gurbh é an diabhal ba Dhóigh leis,
A ghaibh an treo ar phocán buile.

English Translation:
As I set out with me pike in hand,
To Dromore town to join a meithil,
Who should I meet but a tan puck goat,
And he's roaring mad in ferocious mettle

Ailliliu, puilliliu, ailliliu it's the mad puck goat.
Ailliliu, puilliliu, ailliliu it's the mad puck goat.

He chased me over bush and weed,
And thru the bog the running proceeded,
'Til he caught his horns in a clump of gorse,
And on his back I jumped unheeded.

He did not leave a rock that had a passage through,
Which he did not run with force to destroy me,
And then he gave the greatest leap,
To the big slope of Faille Brice.

When the sergeant stood in Rochestown,
With a force of guards to apprehend us,
The goat he tore his trousers down,
And made rags of his breeches and new suspenders.

In Dingle Town the next afternoon,
The parish priest addressed the meeting,
And swore it was The Devil himself,
He'd seen riding on the poc ar buile.