In the County Tyrone near the town of Dunganon,|
There was many a ruction that meself had an hand in
Bob Williams he lived there a weaver by trade
And all of us thought him a stout Orange blade
On the twelfth of July as around it had come
Bob played his old flute to the sound of the drum
You can talk to ya harp, ya piano or Lute
But nothing compares with the ould Orange Flute.
2. But Bob, the deciever, he took us all in
He married a Papish called Bridget McGinn
Turned Papish himself and forsook the old cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws
Now the boys in the place made some comment upon it
And Bob had to fly to the province of Connacht
Well he fled with his wife and his fixings to boot
And along with the latter his ould Orange Flute.
3. At the chapels on sundays, to atone for past deeds
He'd say Paters and Aves and he counted his beads
Till, after some time, at the priest's own desire
Bob went with his ould flute to play in the choir
Well he went with his ould flute to play in the mass
But the instrument shivered and sighed, oh alas
And blow as he would, though it made a great noise
The flute would play only "The protestant boys".
4. At a council of priests that was held the next day
They decided to banish the ould flute away
They couldn't knock heresy out of its head
So they bought Bob a new one to play in its stead
Now the ould flute it was doomed and its fate was pathetic
'Twas fastened and burnt at the stake as heretic
As the flames roared around it, sure they heard a strange noise
'Twas the ould flute still playing 'The protestant boys'.
In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon|
Where's many the ruckus meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived there, a weaver by trade,
And all of us thought him a stout-hearted blade.
On the Twelfth of July, as it yearly did come,
Bob played with his flute to the sound of a drum
You may talk of your fiddles, your harp or your lute
But there's none could compare to the old Orange flute!
2. But the treacherous scoundrel, he took us all in,
And he married a Papist named Briget McGinn
Turned Papish himself, and forsook the Old Cause,
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.
Now the boys of the County made such a stir on it
And Bob had to flee to the Province of Connaught;
Took with him his wife, and his fixin's to boot
And, along with the rest went the old Orange flute!
3. Each Sunday at Mass, to atone for past deeds,
Bob said Paters and Aves, and counted his beads,
Till one Sunday morn, at the priest's own require
Bob went for to play with the flutes in the choir.
He went with the old flute to play in the Mass,
But the instrument shivered and sighed, Oh Alas!
And blow as he would, though he made a great noise,
The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys."
4. Bob jumped up and huffed, and was all in a flutter,
And threw the old flute in the blessed Holy Water,
He thought that this charm would bring some other sound:
When he played it again, it played "Croppies Lie Down."
And for all he would finger and twiddle and blow,
For to play Papish music, the flute would not go;
"Kick The Pope," and "Boyne Water" it freely would sound,
But one Papish squeak in it couldn't be found.
5. At the Council of Priests that was held the next day,
They decided to banish the old flute away.
They couldn't knock heresy out of its head,
So they bought Bob a new one to play in its stead.
Now, the old flute was doomed, and its fate was pathetic:
T'was fastened and burnt at the stake, as heretic!
And as the flames roared around it, they heard a strange noise:
T'was the old flute a-whistlin' "The Protestant Boys!"