One Sunday Morning
One Sunday morning as I was going to mass
I met a bloody Orangeman and killed him as he passed
I killed him for his passing my boys I sent his soul to hell
And when he got to hell he had a strange tale to tell.
Hol-da-roddy-ri there's whiskey in the jar
When an Orangeman dies he goes down below
The worms eat his flesh and the devil takes his soul
The gates of hell fly open and the devil jumps for joy
For there is nothing he likes better than a stout Orange boy.
If I had a yard of Orangeman`s skin
I'd beat it into drums for the bold Fenian men
And the drums they would rattle and the fifes they would play
And we`d all go to mass on St. Patrick`s day.