Star of the County Down

        Em                     G      D
Near to Banbridge Town, in the County Down
    Em           D
One morning in July,
       Em                  G       D
Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen,
        Em            Am        Em
And she smiled as she passed me by;
        G                       D
Oh, she looked so neat from her two white feet
       Em       Am            D
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair,
         Em               G          D
Sure the coaxing elf, I'd to shake myself
   Em              Am       Em
To make sure I was standing there

         G                D
Oh, from Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay,
         Em              D
And from Galway to Dublin town,
   Em                      G     D
No maid I've seen like the brown colleen
       Em         Am     Em
That I met in the County Down.

       Em          G         D
As she onward sped I shook my head
         Em          D
And I gazed with a feeling quare,
     Em           G        D
And I said, says I, to a passer-by,
     Em        Am            Em
"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
         G                  D
Oh, he smiled at me, and with pride says he,
      Em         Am           D
"That's the gem of Ireland's crown,
       Em           G                    D
She's young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann,
        Em       Am         Em
She's the Star of the County Down."


         Em          G         D
I've travelled a bit, but never was hit
        Em          D
Since my roving career began;
        Em           G        D
But fair and square I surrendered there
      Em        Am            Em
To the charms of young Rose McCann.
       G                  D
I'd a heart to let and no tenant yet
      Em         Am           D
Did I meet with in shawl or gown,
       Em           G             D
But in she went and I asked no rent
        Em       Am         Em
From the Star of the County Down.



 Em                 G         D
At the crossroads fair I'll be surely there
       Em                 D
And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
        Em           G        D
And I'll try sheep's eyes, and deludhering lies
   Em        Am            Em
On the heart of the nut-brown Rose.
        G                  D
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
         Em         Am           D
Though with rust my plow turns brown,
       Em           G             D
Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
        Em       Am         Em
Sits the Star of the County Down.