Auld Orange Flute

C F C G

       C                       G          C
In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon,
               Am         G
Where many the ructions meself had a hand in.
    C                   F         C
Bob Williamson lived, a weaver by trade,
              G                          C
And all of us thought him a stout Orange blade,
                    Em       F
On the Twelfth of July as it yearly did come,
    C                            G7
Bob played with his flute to the sound of a drum.
        C                       F        C
You may talk of your harp, your piano or lute,
                              G          C
But none can compare with the Old Orange Flute.

C                     G           C
Bob, the deceiver, he took us all in;
             Am           G
He married a Papist named Bridget McGinn.
       C                     F            C
Turned Papist himself and forsook the old cause
                 G                     C
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.
                 Em            F
Now, boys of the townland made some noise upon it,
    C                     G7
And Bob had to fly to the province of Connaught.
   C                          F          C
He fled with his wife and his fixings to boot,
                              G          C
And along with the latter his Old Orange Flute.

       C                   G              C
At the chapel on Sunday to atone for past deeds,
                   Am       G
He'd say Pater and Aves and counted his brown beads.
     C                       F            C
'Til after some time, at the priest's own desire
                               G           C
He went with that old flute to play in the choir.
                      Em           F
He went with that old flute for to play for the Mass,
        C                       G7
But the instrument shivered and sighed, oh, alas,
    C                              F            C
And try though he would, though it made a great noise,
                               G          C
The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys."

    C                        G        C
Bob jumped and he stared and got in a flutter
              Am               G
And threw the old flute in the blessed holy water.
   C                                   F          C
He thought that this charm would bring some other Sound;
                                   G            C
When he tried it again, it played "Croppies Lie Down."
                      Em          F
Now, for all he could whistle and finger and blow,
   C                    G7
To play Papish music he found it no go.
          C                              F            C
"Kick the Pope" and "The Boyne Water" it freely would Sound,
                            G           C
But one Papish squeak in it couldn't be found.

       C                           G             C
At the council of priests that was held the next day
                Am         G
They decided to banish the old flute away.
     C                     F           C
They couldn't knock heresy out of it's head,
                     G                       C
So they bought Bob a new one to play in it's stead.
                       Em              F
Now, the old flute was doomed, and its fate was pathetic
      C                          G7
'Twas fastened and burned at the stake as a heretic.
       C                             F               C
As the flames soared around it, they heard a strange Noise;
                                         G          C
'Twas the old flute still whistling "The Protestant Boys."

       F         C
"Toora lu, toora lay,
                                  G      C
Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donnahadee."

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