Amhráin as ghaeilge
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Oh father dear I oft times hear you speak of Erin's isle
Her lofty scenes and valleys green her mountains rude and wild
They say it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwell
Oh why did you abandon it the reason to me tell.
Oh son, I loved my native land with energy and pride
Til a blight came o’er my crops my sheep and cattle died
My rent and taxes were too high I could not them redeem
And that's the cruel reason that I left old Skibbereen.
Oh well I do remember that bleak November's day
That landlord and the sheriff came to drive us all away
They set my roof on fire with his cursed English spleen
And that's another reason why I left old Skibbereen.