THE OFFALY ROVER Lyrics Guitar Chords
Link to the sheet music below. 6/8 music timing,Lyrics and chords as used by Derek McCormack and Barleycorn in the youtube video, (use capo on 3rd fret) Guitar work by Marc Fahrbach. The Green Fields Around Ferban [ in co. Offaly ] is also included. Believe it or not but this song was also done by Ex Taoiseach Brian Cowan, and a great job he done on it too, if you don't believe me go to youtube where you can see him singing it. The sheet music / tin whistle notes are in the ebook below.
A (D)rover I have been
And a (G)rover I will (D)stay
But to that faithful (Bm)county
I (E7)will return some (A)day
Uibh (D)Fhaile how I love you
With your (G)heather scented (D)air
Silently the (F#m)peaceful (Bm)brosna(E7)
Calls her (A7)sons from (A)far and (D)near
Oh (D)Kinnitty I long to see
When the (G)woodbine’s in full (D)bloom
Or stroll the fields (Bm)around Ferbane
Hear the (E7)wild birds in full (A)tune
At (D)Clonmacnoise I see you
Onto (G)Banagher we’ll (D)stray
Where the fisher(F#m)men will (Bm)drink and (E7)tear
Of the (A7)ones that (A)got a(D)way
Bridge: D-F#m-Bm-E7 A7-A-D-D
Though (D)dead are still in exile
Are some (G)friends I used to (D)know
Still I must pass (Bm)Killoughy
Where great (E7)sportmen are laid (A)low
By (D)Croghan HillI see you
Where in (G)childhood I did (D)play
So adieu to (F#m)you be(Bm)loved Slieve (E7)Bloom
I (A7)must be (A)on my (D)way
(D)Pile the brown turf on the fire
Bring the (G)keg in from the (D)barn
Let the blacksmith sing his (Bm)Rebel song
And the (E7)poacher tell his (A)yarn
Come (D)close my friends and neighbors
Fill your (G)glasses to the (D)brim
And we toast our (F#m)Offaly (Bm)heros (E7)from
The (A7)heather, (A)hill and (D)glen
And we toast our (F#m)Offaly (Bm)heros (E7)from
The (A7)heather, (A)hill and (D)glen
And a (G)rover I will (D)stay
But to that faithful (Bm)county
I (E7)will return some (A)day
Uibh (D)Fhaile how I love you
With your (G)heather scented (D)air
Silently the (F#m)peaceful (Bm)brosna(E7)
Calls her (A7)sons from (A)far and (D)near
Oh (D)Kinnitty I long to see
When the (G)woodbine’s in full (D)bloom
Or stroll the fields (Bm)around Ferbane
Hear the (E7)wild birds in full (A)tune
At (D)Clonmacnoise I see you
Onto (G)Banagher we’ll (D)stray
Where the fisher(F#m)men will (Bm)drink and (E7)tear
Of the (A7)ones that (A)got a(D)way
Bridge: D-F#m-Bm-E7 A7-A-D-D
Though (D)dead are still in exile
Are some (G)friends I used to (D)know
Still I must pass (Bm)Killoughy
Where great (E7)sportmen are laid (A)low
By (D)Croghan HillI see you
Where in (G)childhood I did (D)play
So adieu to (F#m)you be(Bm)loved Slieve (E7)Bloom
I (A7)must be (A)on my (D)way
(D)Pile the brown turf on the fire
Bring the (G)keg in from the (D)barn
Let the blacksmith sing his (Bm)Rebel song
And the (E7)poacher tell his (A)yarn
Come (D)close my friends and neighbors
Fill your (G)glasses to the (D)brim
And we toast our (F#m)Offaly (Bm)heros (E7)from
The (A7)heather, (A)hill and (D)glen
And we toast our (F#m)Offaly (Bm)heros (E7)from
The (A7)heather, (A)hill and (D)glen
This is the heartfelt lament of a professional wanderer --
a lad who’s roamed more counties than a GAA referee --
but still gets teary-eyed at the smell of damp turf
and the mention of Offaly’s sacred bogland.
He’s out in the world pretending to be a hard man,
but whisper Uibh Fhaile in his ear
and he goes weak at the knees like a fella hearing:
“Will you have another pint?”
He pines for Kinnitty in bloom,
Ferbane in the sunshine,
and Clonmacnoise like some kind of spiritual pit stop --
where even the ghosts are probably wearing Offaly jerseys.
He wants to wander to Banagher
where fishermen spin yarns
about the one that got away
— which every year gets longer, fatter, and more heroic --
until by 2030 the fish will be the size of a tractor.
He remembers friends in Killoughy
— some dead, some exiled --
both categories equally likely to return home drunk at Christmas.
Croghan Hill?
That’s where he ran around as a boy
probably bare-arsed and carefree
before life hit him with rent, responsibilities
and whatever poor decisions led him to rove in the first place.
Then we shift into the proper Irish calling:
bonfires, blacksmiths singing rebel songs,
poachers bragging about their criminal résumé,
and pints raised like sacred chalices.
He wants the turf piled high,
the keg rolled in,
and every neighbour squeezed into a warm room
like a rugby scrum with alcohol.
At the end he raises a glass to Offaly heroes:
In short:
This song is the love letter of a homesick Offaly rover --
a man who’s been everywhere,
seen everything,
but still believes there’s no finer place on earth
than beside a blazing turf fire
in a room full of friends
who all tell lies for entertainment
and toast the county like it’s a religion.
That’s Offaly for you --
where the hearts are soft,
the stories are long,
and the pints are dangerously close together.
a lad who’s roamed more counties than a GAA referee --
but still gets teary-eyed at the smell of damp turf
and the mention of Offaly’s sacred bogland.
He’s out in the world pretending to be a hard man,
but whisper Uibh Fhaile in his ear
and he goes weak at the knees like a fella hearing:
“Will you have another pint?”
He pines for Kinnitty in bloom,
Ferbane in the sunshine,
and Clonmacnoise like some kind of spiritual pit stop --
where even the ghosts are probably wearing Offaly jerseys.
He wants to wander to Banagher
where fishermen spin yarns
about the one that got away
— which every year gets longer, fatter, and more heroic --
until by 2030 the fish will be the size of a tractor.
He remembers friends in Killoughy
— some dead, some exiled --
both categories equally likely to return home drunk at Christmas.
Croghan Hill?
That’s where he ran around as a boy
probably bare-arsed and carefree
before life hit him with rent, responsibilities
and whatever poor decisions led him to rove in the first place.
Then we shift into the proper Irish calling:
bonfires, blacksmiths singing rebel songs,
poachers bragging about their criminal résumé,
and pints raised like sacred chalices.
He wants the turf piled high,
the keg rolled in,
and every neighbour squeezed into a warm room
like a rugby scrum with alcohol.
At the end he raises a glass to Offaly heroes:
- the hurlers,
- the hunters,
- the eel-catchers,
- the turf-cutters,
- and presumably the heroic lads who don’t go to work when it rains
— legends, all of them.
In short:
This song is the love letter of a homesick Offaly rover --
a man who’s been everywhere,
seen everything,
but still believes there’s no finer place on earth
than beside a blazing turf fire
in a room full of friends
who all tell lies for entertainment
and toast the county like it’s a religion.
That’s Offaly for you --
where the hearts are soft,
the stories are long,
and the pints are dangerously close together.
The Offaly Rover Tin Whistle / Sheet Music Notes Are In The Ebooks Below
Below is the list of sheet music and tin whistle songs that are in my ebooks. This is the largest collection of tin whistle songs ever put together.[over 1,000 songs ] Including folk, pop and trad tunes plus German And French songs along with Christmas Carols.
All of the sheet music tabs have been made as easy to play as was possible.
The price of the ebooks is €7.50
