The Old Orange Flute

Words and Music by: Irish Traditional

In the County Tyrone near the town of Dungannon
There was many a ruction that meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived there, a weaver by trade
And oll of us thought him a stout orange blade
On the twelth of July as it yearly did come
Bob played with his old flute to the sound of a drum
You can talk of your harp, your piano or lute,
but nothing compared with the old orange flute

                Toora loo, toora lay, oh it's six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee

Now Bob, the deceiver, sure he took us all in
And he married a Papist called Bridget McGinn
Turned Papish himself and forsook the old cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws
Now the boys of the place made some comment upon it
And Bob had to flee to the province of Connaught
He fled with his wife and his fixings to boot
And along with the latter his old orange flute

                Toora loo, toora lay, oh it's six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee

At the chapel on sunday to atone for past deeds
Said Paters and Aves and counted his beads
Till after some time at the priest's own desire
Bob went with the old flute to play in the choir
He went with the old flute for to play in the mass
But the instrument shivered and sighed, oh alas
And try though he would, though it made a great noise
The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys"

                Toora loo, toora lay, oh it's six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee

At the council of priests that was held the next day
They decided to banish the old flute away
They couldn't knock heresy out of its head
So they bought Bob a new one to play in its stead
Now the old flute was doomed and its fate was pathetic
'Twas fastened and burned at the stake as heretic
As the flames soared around it they heard a queer noise
'Twas the old flute still playing "The Protestant Boys"

                Toora loo, toora lay, oh it's six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee

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