Текст пісні
O, Father dear, I often hear you speak of Erin's Isle,
Her lofty scenes her valleys green, her mountains rude and wild
They said it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwell,
Oh why did you abbandonate the reason to me tell?
My son, I loved my native land with energy and pride
Until a blight came on my crops my and sheep and cattle died,
My rents and taxes were too high, I could not them redeem,
And that's the cruel reason why I left Old Skibbereen.
Oh well I do remember the bleak November's day,
The landlord and the sheriff came to drive us all away;
They set my roof on fire with their cursed English spleen
And that's another reason that I left Old Skibbereen.
Your mother, too, God rest her soul, the land on the snowy ground,
She fainted in her anguish seein' the desolation round.
She never rose, but passed away from life to mortal dream,
And found a quiet grave, my boy, in dear old Skibbereen.
Oh father dear, the day will come when in answer to the call
Each Irishman with feeings stern will answer one and all,
I'll be the man to lead the van, beneath our flag of green,
And loud and high we'll raise the cry," Remember Skibbereen!"