The Wolfe Tones - Star of the County Down lyrics
[The Wolfe Tones - Star of the County Down lyrics]
Near Banbridge Town in the county
Down one morning last July
Down a boarding green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by
She looked so sweet in her two bare feet
To the fringe of her nut-brown hair
Young Rosee McCann from the banks of the Bann
She's the star of the County down
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
From Galway to Dublin town
No maid I have seen like the fairy colleen
That I met in the county down
As she onward sped sure I scratched my head
And I looked with a feeling rare:
"Ay" says, says I to a passer-by
"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
And he smiled at me and he says
Says he: "that's the gem
If an Irelands crown!"
It's Rosee McCann 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 upright
For a smile from my nut-brown rose
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
Till my plough was a rust-coloured brown
'Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
Is the star of the county down
Down one morning last July
Down a boarding green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by
She looked so sweet in her two bare feet
To the fringe of her nut-brown hair
Young Rosee McCann from the banks of the Bann
She's the star of the County down
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
From Galway to Dublin town
No maid I have seen like the fairy colleen
That I met in the county down
As she onward sped sure I scratched my head
And I looked with a feeling rare:
"Ay" says, says I to a passer-by
"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
And he smiled at me and he says
Says he: "that's the gem
If an Irelands crown!"
It's Rosee McCann 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 upright
For a smile from my nut-brown rose
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
Till my plough was a rust-coloured brown
'Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
Is the star of the county down