Written by Sam Speirs & Ray Weaver

In an Irish bar,
Up in New York City.
Stood a lone guitar,
By a microphone.
On a that tiny stage,
Man, it looked so pretty.
It was green and white and gold.
It was green and white and gold.

Then a blue eyed girl,
Took that old guitar.
And I was captured by,
That fair colleen.
Held that guitar like,
It was her child.
She sang, "Dear Old Skibbereen".
She sang, "Dear Old Skibbereen".

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She sang my should in New York City,
She sang me back to where I want to be.
From a run-down pub in NYC.
She sang me home,
To Skibbereen.

Well I'm not a man,
Who can show his feelings.
I was raised to keep them,
Buried deep.
But that blue eyed girl,
On that New York evening,
She made this strong man weep.
Yes she made this strong man weep.

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SOLO

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