If I might just get another wee one in here?

Oh Father dear I often hear you speak of Erin's Isle
Her lofty scenes and valleys green, her music fierce and wild
They say it is a lovely land for musicianers to dwell
But why did you abandon it? The reason to me tell

Oh son I loved my native home with energy and pride
I played a session Sundays with John Hoy and Tom McBride
I'd play the Stack of Barley and I'd sing the Braes of Screen
But there's a cruel reason why I left oul' Skibbereen

It's well I do remember that fateful winter's day
When an amadán on his bodhrán proceeded for to play
He hadn't got a feature that ever would redeem
And that's the cruel reason why I left oul' Skibbereen

Your mother too God rest her soul was handy on the box
She'd play oul' Kitt'y's Rambles and The Flower of the Flock
But the way thon buck-o put her off, It nearly made me scream
And that's the cruel reason why I left oul' Skibbereen

And insult adds to injury, he produced a shaky egg
To have him shove it up his hole I was nearly forced to beg
Says I the hen that laid thon egg, it never should have been
And that's the cruel reason why I left oul' Skibbereen

Then bongos and djembes and a bloody big Lambeg!
Says I, you're taking liberties, you're pulling my oul' leg
Bones and spoons and cowbells then – it seemed like a bad dream
And that's the cruel reason why I left oul' Skibbereen

I couldn't take it any more and from that day to this
I gave each session a wide berth, each sing-song I would miss
My fiddle hangs above the fire – no jigs, no slides, no reels
And that's the cruel reason why I left oul' Skibbereen

Ah father dear the time will come when on vengeance we will call
And musicmen from North and South will rally unto the call
We'll shove their drums and beaters where the daylight's never been
And loud and high we'll raise the cry Revenge For Skibbereen