Tono: C
C
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C
In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon,
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Where many the ructions meself had a hand in.
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F
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Bob Williamson lived, a weaver by trade,
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And all of us thought him a stout Orange blade,
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On the Twelfth of July as it yearly did come,
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G7
Bob played with his flute to the sound of a drum.
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You may talk of your harp, your piano or lute,
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But none can compare with the Old Orange Flute.
verse 2
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Bob, the deceiver, he took us all in;
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He married a Papist named Bridget McGinn.
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Turned Papist himself and forsook the old cause
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That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.
Em
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Now, boys of the townland made some noise upon it,
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G7
And Bob had to fly to the province of Connaught.
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He fled with his wife and his fixings to boot,
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And along with the latter his Old Orange Flute.
verse 3
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At the chapel on Sunday to atone for past deeds,
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He'd say Pater and Aves and counted his brown beads.
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'Til after some time, at the priest's own desire
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He went with that old flute to play in the choir.
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He went with that old flute for to play for the Mass,
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G7
But the instrument shivered and sighed, oh, alas,
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And try though he would, though it made a great noise,
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The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys."
verse 4
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Bob jumped and he stared and got in a flutter
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And threw the old flute in the blessed holy water.
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He thought that this charm would bring some other Sound;
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When he tried it again, it played "Croppies Lie Down."
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Now, for all he could whistle and finger and blow,
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G7
To play Papish music he found it no go.
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"Kick the Pope" and "The Boyne Water" it freely would Sound,
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But one Papish squeak in it couldn't be found.
Verse 5
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At the council of priests that was held the next day
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They decided to banish the old flute away.
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They couldn't knock heresy out of it's head,
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C
So they bought Bob a new one to play in it's stead.
Em
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Now, the old flute was doomed, and its fate was pathetic
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G7
'Twas fastened and burned at the stake as a heretic.
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C
As the flames soared around it, they heard a strange Noise;
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'Twas the old flute still whistling "The Protestant Boys."
Outro
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"Toora lu, toora lay,
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Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donnahadee."