top of page


Trad Arr Dan McCabe/ Baroda Music,

Oh father dear, I oft-times hear you speak of Erin's isle

Her 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

My rent 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 day

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 'round

She never rose but passed away from life to immortal dream

She 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

I'll be the man to lead the band beneath the flag of green

And loud and clear we'll raise the cheer, Revenge for Skibbereen!

67 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page