Oh father dear, I oft-times hear you speak of Erin's isle
lofty hills, her valleys green, her mountains rude and wild
They say she is
a lovely land wherein a saint might dwell
So why did you abandon her, the
reason to me tell.
Oh son, I loved my native land with energy and pride
Till a blight came o'er the praties; my sheep, my cattle died
and taxes went unpaid, I could not them redeem
And that's the cruel reason
why I left old Skibbereen.
Oh well do I remember that bleak December
The landlord and the sheriff came to take us all away
They set my
roof on fire with their cursed English spleen
I heaved a sigh and bade
goodbye to dear old Skibbereen.
Your mother too, God rest her soul,
fell on the stony ground
She fainted in her anguish seeing desolation
She never rose but passed away from life to immortal dream
found a quiet grave, me boy, in dear old Skibbereen.
And you were only
two years old and feeble was your frame
I could not leave you with my
friends for you bore your father's name
I wrapped you in my cóta
mór in the dead of night unseen
I heaved a sigh and bade goodbye to
dear old Skibbereen.
Oh father dear, the day will come when in answer
to the call
All Irish men of freedom stern will rally one and all
be the man to lead the band beneath the flag of green
And loud and clear
we'll raise the cheer, Revenge for Skibbereen!