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The Ould Orange Flute

The Ould Orange Flute – Irish Song

Lyrics of The Ould Orange Flute

In the County Tyrone in the town of Dungannon
Where manys the ructions meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived there a weaver be trade
And all of us thought him a stout Orange blade
On the twelfth of July as it yearly did come
Bob played with his flute to the sound of the drum
You talk of your harp and your piano of flute
And along with latter his ould orange flute
But Bob, the deceiver, he took us all in
He married a Papist named Bridget McGinn
Turned Papist 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 Connaught
Well he fled with his wife and his fixings to boot
And along with latter his ould orange flute
At the chapel on Sundays, to atone for past deeds
He said Paters and Aves and 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 for 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”
At the 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 that bought Bob a new one to play in its stead
Now the ould flute was doomed and its fate was pathetic
It was fastened and burned at the stake as heretic
As the flame roared around it, sure they heard a great noise
‘Twas the ould flute still playing “The protestant boys”
Too-ra-loo too-ra-lay it’s six miles from Banger to Donaghadee