| Saint Patrick was a gentleman, he came from decent people
|
| In Dublin town he built a church and on it put a steeple
|
| His father was a Callahan, his mother was a Grady
|
| His aunt was O’Shaughnessy and uncle he was Brady
|
| Success to bold Saint Patrick’s fist
|
| He was a Saint so clever
|
| He gave the snakes an awful twist
|
| And banished them forever
|
| There’s not a smile in Ireland’s isle where the dirty vermin musters
|
| Where’er he put his dear forefoot he murdered 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 charmed with sweet discourses
|
| And dined on them at Killaloo an' in the second courses
|
| When blind worms crawling on the grass disgusted all the nation
|
| He gave them a rise and opened their eyes to a sense of their situation
|
| The Wicklow hills are very high and so’s the hill of Howth, sir
|
| But there’s a hill much higher still, Ay, higher then them both, sir
|
| And it was on the top of his hill, Saint Patrick preached the «Sarmint»
|
| That drove the frogs into the bogs and bothered all the «varmint» |