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I close my eyes and picture the emerald of the sea,
From the fishing boats at Dingle to the shores of Donaghadea;
I miss the River Shannon and folks at Skibbereen,
The moorlands and the meadows with their forty shades of green.
But most of all I miss a girl in Tipperary town,
And most of all I miss her lips as soft as eider down;
Again I want to see and do the things we've done and seen,
Where the breeze is sweet as Shalamar
And there's forty shades of green.
I wish I could spend an hour at Dublin's churning surf,
I'd love to watch the farmers drain the bogs and spade the turf;
To see again the thatching of the straw the women glean,
I'd walk from Cork to Larne to see the forty shades of green.
But most of all I miss a girl in Tipperary town,
And most of all I miss her lips as soft as eider down;
Again I want to see and do the things we've done and seen,
Where the breeze is sweet as Shalamar
And there's forty shades of green.
