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St. Patrick was a gentleman

Patrick was a gentleman he came from decent people
he built his church in Dublin Town and on it put a steeple
his father was a Gallagher his mother was a Grady
his aunt was an O’Shaughnessy his uncle was a Brady

The Wicklow Hills are very high and so is the Hill of Howth sir
there’s a hill much higher still much higher than them both sir
on the top of this high hill St Patrick preached his sermon
which drove the frogs into the bogs and banished all the vermin

Farewell to St Patrick’s fist he was a saint so clever
he gave the snakes an awful twist and banished them forever

There’s not a mile in Eireann’s Isle where dirty vermin musters
but there he put his dear fore-foot and he murdered them in clusters
the frogs went hop the toads went plop slapdash into the water
and the snakes committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter

Nine hundred thousand reptiles blue he charmed with sweet discourses
and dined on them in Killaloe on soups and second courses
where blind worms crawling in the grass disgusted all the nation
right down to hell with the holy spell he changed their situation

Farewell to St Patrick’s fist . . .

No wonder that these irish guys could be so gay and frisky
sure St. Pat he taught them that as well as making whiskey
no wonder that the saint himself should understand distilling
his mother kept a sheebeen shop in the town of Enniskillen

Well was I but so fortunate as to be back in Munster
I’d be bound that from that ground I never more would once stir
there St. Patrick planted turf cabbages and praties
pigs galore, mo gra mo store, altar boys and ladies

Farewell to St Patrick’s fist . . .