| Song | Star Of The County Down |
| Artist | The High Kings |
| Album | Memory Lane |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Near Banbridge town, in the County Down | |
| One evening last July | |
| Down a bóithrín green came a sweet cailín | |
| And she smiled as she passed me by | |
| She looked so neat in her two bare feet | |
| To the sheen of her nut-brown hair | |
| Such a coaxing elf, I'd to shake myself | |
| To make sure I was standing there | |
| (Chorus) | |
| From Bantry Bay down to Derry Quay | |
| From Galway to Dublin town | |
| No maid I've seen like the fair cailín | |
| That I met in the County Down | |
| As she onward sped I shook me head | |
| And I gazed with a feeling queer | |
| And I said, says I, to a passerby | |
| "Who's your one with the nut-brown hair?" | |
| He smiled at me, and with pride says he: | |
| "She's the gem of old Ireland's crown | |
| Young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann | |
| And the star of the County Down" | |
| (Chorus) | |
| She'd a soft brown eye and a look so sly | |
| And a smile like the rose in June | |
| And you held each note from her auburn throat | |
| As she lilted lamenting tunes | |
| At the pattern dance you'd be in trance | |
| As she skipped through a jig or reel | |
| When her eyes, she'd roll, as she'd lift your soul | |
| And your heart, she would likely steal | |
| (Chorus) | |
| At the harvest fair she'll be surely there | |
| And I'll dress my Sunday clothes | |
| With my hat cocked right and my shoes shone bright | |
| For a smile from the nut-brown Rose | |
| No horse I'll yoke, or pipe I smoke | |
| 'Til the rust in my plough turn brown | |
| And a smiling bride by my own fireside | |
| Sits the star of the County Down | |
| (Chorus) | |
| She'd a soft brown eye and a look so sly | |
| And a smile like the rose in June | |
| And you held each note from her auburn throat | |
| As she lilted lamenting tunes | |
| At the pattern dance you'd be in trance | |
| As she skipped through a jig or reel | |
| When her eyes she'd roll, as she'd lift your soul | |
| And your heart, she would likely steal | |
| (Chorus) | |
| Near Banbridge town, in the County Down | |
| One evening last July | |
| Down a bóithrín green came a sweet cailín | |
| And she smiled as she passed me by | |
| She looked so neat in her two bare feet | |
| To the sheen of her nut-brown hair | |
| Such a coaxing elf, I'd to shake myself | |
| To make sure I was standing there | |
| (Chorus X3) |
| Near Banbridge town, in the County Down | |
| One evening last July | |
| Down a bo ithri n green came a sweet caili n | |
| And she smiled as she passed me by | |
| She looked so neat in her two bare feet | |
| To the sheen of her nutbrown hair | |
| Such a coaxing elf, I' d to shake myself | |
| To make sure I was standing there | |
| Chorus | |
| From Bantry Bay down to Derry Quay | |
| From Galway to Dublin town | |
| No maid I' ve seen like the fair caili n | |
| That I met in the County Down | |
| As she onward sped I shook me head | |
| And I gazed with a feeling queer | |
| And I said, says I, to a passerby | |
| " Who' s your one with the nutbrown hair?" | |
| He smiled at me, and with pride says he: | |
| " She' s the gem of old Ireland' s crown | |
| Young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann | |
| And the star of the County Down" | |
| Chorus | |
| She' d a soft brown eye and a look so sly | |
| And a smile like the rose in June | |
| And you held each note from her auburn throat | |
| As she lilted lamenting tunes | |
| At the pattern dance you' d be in trance | |
| As she skipped through a jig or reel | |
| When her eyes, she' d roll, as she' d lift your soul | |
| And your heart, she would likely steal | |
| Chorus | |
| At the harvest fair she' ll be surely there | |
| And I' ll dress my Sunday clothes | |
| With my hat cocked right and my shoes shone bright | |
| For a smile from the nutbrown Rose | |
| No horse I' ll yoke, or pipe I smoke | |
| ' Til the rust in my plough turn brown | |
| And a smiling bride by my own fireside | |
| Sits the star of the County Down | |
| Chorus | |
| She' d a soft brown eye and a look so sly | |
| And a smile like the rose in June | |
| And you held each note from her auburn throat | |
| As she lilted lamenting tunes | |
| At the pattern dance you' d be in trance | |
| As she skipped through a jig or reel | |
| When her eyes she' d roll, as she' d lift your soul | |
| And your heart, she would likely steal | |
| Chorus | |
| Near Banbridge town, in the County Down | |
| One evening last July | |
| Down a bo ithri n green came a sweet caili n | |
| And she smiled as she passed me by | |
| She looked so neat in her two bare feet | |
| To the sheen of her nutbrown hair | |
| Such a coaxing elf, I' d to shake myself | |
| To make sure I was standing there | |
| Chorus X3 |
| Near Banbridge town, in the County Down | |
| One evening last July | |
| Down a bó ithrí n green came a sweet cailí n | |
| And she smiled as she passed me by | |
| She looked so neat in her two bare feet | |
| To the sheen of her nutbrown hair | |
| Such a coaxing elf, I' d to shake myself | |
| To make sure I was standing there | |
| Chorus | |
| From Bantry Bay down to Derry Quay | |
| From Galway to Dublin town | |
| No maid I' ve seen like the fair cailí n | |
| That I met in the County Down | |
| As she onward sped I shook me head | |
| And I gazed with a feeling queer | |
| And I said, says I, to a passerby | |
| " Who' s your one with the nutbrown hair?" | |
| He smiled at me, and with pride says he: | |
| " She' s the gem of old Ireland' s crown | |
| Young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann | |
| And the star of the County Down" | |
| Chorus | |
| She' d a soft brown eye and a look so sly | |
| And a smile like the rose in June | |
| And you held each note from her auburn throat | |
| As she lilted lamenting tunes | |
| At the pattern dance you' d be in trance | |
| As she skipped through a jig or reel | |
| When her eyes, she' d roll, as she' d lift your soul | |
| And your heart, she would likely steal | |
| Chorus | |
| At the harvest fair she' ll be surely there | |
| And I' ll dress my Sunday clothes | |
| With my hat cocked right and my shoes shone bright | |
| For a smile from the nutbrown Rose | |
| No horse I' ll yoke, or pipe I smoke | |
| ' Til the rust in my plough turn brown | |
| And a smiling bride by my own fireside | |
| Sits the star of the County Down | |
| Chorus | |
| She' d a soft brown eye and a look so sly | |
| And a smile like the rose in June | |
| And you held each note from her auburn throat | |
| As she lilted lamenting tunes | |
| At the pattern dance you' d be in trance | |
| As she skipped through a jig or reel | |
| When her eyes she' d roll, as she' d lift your soul | |
| And your heart, she would likely steal | |
| Chorus | |
| Near Banbridge town, in the County Down | |
| One evening last July | |
| Down a bó ithrí n green came a sweet cailí n | |
| And she smiled as she passed me by | |
| She looked so neat in her two bare feet | |
| To the sheen of her nutbrown hair | |
| Such a coaxing elf, I' d to shake myself | |
| To make sure I was standing there | |
| Chorus X3 |