I close my eyes and picture the emerald of the sea; From the fishing boats at Dingle to the shores of Dunadee. I miss the River Shannon and the folks at Skipparee; The moor lands 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 eiderdown. Again I want to see and do the things we've done and seen, Where the breeze is sweet as Shalimar, And there's forty shades of green. I wish that 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 Lairn to see 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 eiderdown. Again I want to see and do the things we've done and seen, Where the breeze is sweet as Shalimar, And there's forty shades of green.