Author Unknown
St Patrick was a gentleman he came from dacent people
He built a church in Dublin Town and on it put a steeple
His father was a Gallagher his uncle was a Grady
His Aunt was an O’Shaughnessy and his mother was a Brady
The Wicklow hills are very high so is the hill of Howth sir
But there’s a hill much higher still much higher that them both sir
On the top of this high hill St. Patrick preached his sermon
He drove the frogs into the bogs and banished all the vermin
There’s not a mile on Erin’s Isle where dirty vermin mustered
But there he put his dear fore foot and murdered them in clusters
The toads went pop and the frogs went hop slap dash into the water
And the snakes committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter
A hundred thousand reptiles blue he charmed with sweet discourses
And he dined on them in Killaloe in soups and second courses
Where the blind worms crawling in the grass disgusted all the nation
Right down to Hell with a holy spell he changed their situation
No wonder that them Irish boys should be so gay and frisky
Sure St Pat he thought them that as well as making whiskey
No wonder that the saint himself should understand distilling
For his mother kept a shebeen shop near the town of Enniskillen
was I but so fortunate as to be back in Ulster
I’d be bound that from that ground I never more would once stir
For there St. Patrick planted turf and cabbages and praties
Pigs galore, mo gra, mo stor, altar boys and ladies