| |
| OH! St. Patrick was a gentleman, | |
| Who came of decent people; | |
| He built a church in Dublin town, | |
| And on it put a steeple. | |
| His father was a Gallagher; | 5 |
| His mother was a Brady; | |
| His aunt was an O’Shaughnessy, | |
| His uncle an O’Grady. | |
| So, success attend St. Patrick’s fist, | |
| For he’s a saint so clever; | 10 |
| O! he gave the snakes and toads a twist, | |
| And bothered them forever! | |
| |
| The Wicklow hills are very high, | |
| And so’s the Hill of Howth, sir; | |
| But there’s a hill, much bigger still, | 15 |
| Much higher nor them both, sir. | |
| ’Twas on the top of this high hill | |
| St. Patrick preached his sarmint | |
| That drove the frogs into the bogs, | |
| And banished all the varmint. | 20 |
| So, success attend St. Patrick’s fist, | |
| For he’s a saint so clever; | |
| O! he gave the snakes and toads a twist, | |
| And bothered them forever! | |
| |
| There ’s not a mile in Ireland’s isle | 25 |
| Where dirty varmin musters, | |
| But there he put his dear fore-foot, | |
| And murdered them in clusters. | |
| The toads went pop, the frogs went hop, | |
| Slap-dash into the water; | 30 |
| And the snakes committed suicide | |
| To save themselves from slaughter. | |
| So, success attend St. Patrick’s fist, | |
| For he’s a saint so clever; | |
| O! he gave the snakes and toads a twist, | 35 |
| And bothered them forever! | |
| |
| Nine hundred thousand reptiles blue | |
| He charmed with sweet discourses, | |
| And dined on them at Killaloe | |
| In soups and second courses. | 40 |
| Where blind worms crawling in the grass | |
| Disgusted all the nation, | |
| He gave them a rise, which opened their eyes | |
| To a sense of their situation. | |
| So, success attend St. Patrick’s fist, | 45 |
| For he’s a saint so clever; | |
| O! he gave the snakes and toads a twist, | |
| And bothered them forever! | |
| |
| No wonder that those Irish lads | |
| Should be so gay and frisky, | 50 |
| For sure St. Pat. he taught them that, | |
| As well as making whiskey; | |
| No wonder that the saint himself | |
| Should understand distilling, | |
| Since his mother kept a shebeen shop | 55 |
| In the town of Enniskillen. | |
| So, success attend St. Patrick’s fist, | |
| For he’s a saint so clever; | |
| O! he gave the snakes and toads a twist, | |
| And bothered them forever! | 60 |
| |
| O! was I but so fortunate | |
| As to be back in Munster, | |
| ’Tis I’d be bound that from that ground | |
| I never more would once stir. | |
| For there St. Patrick planted turf, | 65 |
| And plenty of the praties, | |
| With pigs galore, ma gra, ma ’store, | |
| And cabbages—and ladies! | |
| Then my blessing on St. Patrick’s fist, | |
| For he’s the darling saint O! | 70 |
| O! he gave the snakes and toads a twist; | |
| He’s a beauty without paint O! | |
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