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.