| lyric | Saint Patrick was a gentleman,
he came from decent people.
In Dublin town he build a church
and on it put a steeple.
His father was a Callaham his mother was a Grady,
His aunt was an O’ Shaughnessy,
and his uncle was a Brady.
Chorus:
Then success to bold St. Patrick’s fist.
He was a saint so clever.
He gave the snakes an awful twist
and banaished them for ever.
There's not a smile in Ireland's Isle
where the dirty vermin musters,
Where'er he put his dear forefoot
he murder'd them in clusters.
The toads went hop, the frogs went plop,
slap dash into the water,
And the beasts committed suicide
to save themselves from slaughter.
Nine hundred thousand vipers blue
he charm'd with sweet discourses,
And dined on them at Killaloo
in soups and second courses.
When blind worms crawling on the grass
disgusted all the nation,
He gave them a rise and open'd their eyes
to a sense of their situation.
The Wicklow hills are very high,
and 50's the hill of Howth, sir,
But there's a hill much higher still,
Ay, higher than them both, sir.
'Twas on the top of his hill
St. Patrick preach'd the ""sarmint,""
That drove the frogs into the bogs,
and bothered all the ""varmin ."" |