Oh father dear, and I often 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 Then why did you abandon it ? The reasons to me tell. My son, I loved my native land with energy and pride Till a blight came o'er 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 I left old Skibbereen. This well I do remember the bleak November day When the bailiff and the landlord came to drive us all away They set their roof on fire with their cursed English spleen And that's another reason I left old Skibbereen. Your mother too, God rest her soul, fell 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 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 I wrapped you in my cóta mór at the dead of night unseen I heaved a sigh and I said goodbye to dear old Skibbereen. Oh father dear, the day will come when our vengeance we will call And Irish men both stout and tall will rally on to the call I'll be the man to lead the band beneath the flag of green And loud and high we'll raise the cry: Revenge for Skibbereen !