O, father dear I oftimes hear you speak of Erin's Isle Her lofty scenes, her valleys green, her mountains rude and wild They say it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwell So why did you abandon it, the reason to me tell My son, I loved my native land with energy and pride Till a blight came over all my crops and my sheep and cattle died The rents and taxes were to pay and I could not them redeem And that's the cruel reason why I left old Skibbereen 'Tis well I do remember that bleak November day When the bailiff and the landlord came to drive us all away They set the roof on fire with their cursed English spleen And that's another reason why I left old Skibbereen Your mother, too, God rest her soul, lay on the snowy ground She fainted in her anguishing seeing the desolation round She never rose, but passed away from life to immortal dreams And that's another reason why I left old Skibbereen Oh 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 So I wrapped you in my cóta mór at the dead of night unseen And I heaved a sigh and I said goodbye to dear old Skibereen well father dear, the day will come when on vengeance we will call And Irishmen both stout and tall will rally unto the call 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!"
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