Oh, father dear, I ofttimes hear,
You speak of Erin's isle,
Her lofty scenes, her valleys green,
And her mountains rude and wild,
They say, "It is a lovely land,
Where in the prince might dwell",
Oh, why did you abandon it?
The reason me to tell.

Oh, son, I loved my native land,
With energy and pride,
Till a blight came over all of our crops,
And the sheep and cattle died,
My rents and taxes were too pay,
Sure, I could not them redeem,
And that's the cruel reason why,
I left old Skibbereen.

Oh, well that I remember,
That cold December day,
When the landlord and the sheriff,
For to drive us away,
They set our roof on fire,
With the demon's yellow flame,
And that's another reason why,
I left old Skibbereen.

Oh, father dear,
The day may come,
When vengeance, loud will call,
When Irishmen are feeling stern,
To rally one and all,
I'll be the man to lead the van,
Beneath that flag of green,
When loud and high we'll raise the cry,
"Revenge for Skibbereen!"

When loud and high we'll raise the cry,
"Revenge for Skibbereen!".