Fiddler's Green - Star Of The County Down lyrics
[Fiddler's Green - Star Of The County Down lyrics]
Near Banbridge town in the County Down
One morning last July
From a boreen green came a sweet Colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by
She looked so sweet from her two bare feet
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair
Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself
For so see I was really there
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I've seen like the fair colleen
That I met in the County Down
As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head
And I looked with a feeling rare
And I say, say's I, to a passer-by
"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair"?
He smiled at me and he say's, say's he
"That's the gem of Ireland's crown
Young Rosie MC Cann
From the banks of the bann
She's the star of the County Down"
At the Harvest Fair she'll be surely there
And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
With my shoes shone bright and
My hat cocked right
For a smile from my nut-brown rose
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
Till my plough it is rust-coloured brown
Till a smiling bride, by my own fireside
Sit's the Star of the County Down
One morning last July
From a boreen green came a sweet Colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by
She looked so sweet from her two bare feet
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair
Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself
For so see I was really there
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I've seen like the fair colleen
That I met in the County Down
As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head
And I looked with a feeling rare
And I say, say's I, to a passer-by
"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair"?
He smiled at me and he say's, say's he
"That's the gem of Ireland's crown
Young Rosie MC Cann
From the banks of the bann
She's the star of the County Down"
At the Harvest Fair she'll be surely there
And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
With my shoes shone bright and
My hat cocked right
For a smile from my nut-brown rose
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
Till my plough it is rust-coloured brown
Till a smiling bride, by my own fireside
Sit's the Star of the County Down