SKIBBEREEN
Trad. Arr. Merry Ploughboys

 
O, Father dear, I often hear you speak of Erin's Isle,
Her lofty scenes, and valleys green, her mountains rude and wild;
They say it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwell,
Oh why did you abandon it, the reason to me tell?
 
Oh son, I loved my native land with energy and pride
Till’ a blight came oer’ my fields and crops my sheep and cattle died,
My rent and taxes were to pay, I could not them redeem,
And that's the cruel reason why I left Old Skibbereen.
 
Oh well do I remember that bleak December day,
The landlord and the sheriff came to drive us all away;
They set my roof on fire with their cursed English spleen
And that's another reason why I left Old Skibbereen.
 
Oh well do I remember the year of forty eight
When I rose with Comrades fierce and true to battle for our fate
I was hunted through the hills by slaves, who served a foreign Queen
 
 
And you were only two years old and feeble was your frame
I could not leave you with my friends you bore your father’s name
I wrapped you in my cota mor in the dead of night unseen
I heaved a sigh and I bade goodbye to old Skibbereen
 
Oh father dear, the day will come when vengeance loud will call
When each Irish man with feeling strong will rally one and all,
I'll be the man to lead the van, beneath the flag of green,
And loud and high we'll raise the cry," Revenge for Skibbereen!"
 
Additional verse (not recorded)
 
Your mother, too, God rest her soul, fell on the snowy ground,
She fainted in her anguish of the desolation round.
She never rose, but passed away from life to mortal dream,

And that's another reason why I left Old Skibbereen.