Title: Skibbereen
Subtitle:
Artist: Traditional Tune
Album:
Author: Traditional Tune
Copyright:
Tabled by:
Instructions:
Notices: 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!

Tempo: 97 BPM
Tracks: 6
Instruments:
Bars: 73

Lyric

In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six
We set out from the coal quay of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand City Hall in New York

We'd an elegant craft, she was rigged 'fore and aft
And how the Trade Winds drove her
She had twenty three masts and she stood several blasts
And they called her the Irish Rover

There was Barney Magee from the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk, who was scared stiff of work
And a chap from Westmeath named Mallone

There was Slugger O'Toole, who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracey from Dover
And your man, Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper on the Irish Rover

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of bone
We had three million bales of old nanny goat tails
We had four million barrels of stone

We had five million hogs, six million dogs
Seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million sides of old blind horses' hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost her way in the fog
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two
'Twas meself and the captain's old dog

Then the ship struck a rock, Oh, Lord, what a shock
Oh, how the wild winds drove her
Turned her nine times around and the poor dog was drowned
I'm the last, I'm the last, I'm the last of the Irish Rover
I'm the last of the Irish Rover