The Old Orange Flute

The Old Orange Flute - The Clancy Brothers/Tommy Makem

In the county Tyrone

Near the town of Dungannon

Where many's the ruction

Meself had a hand in

Bob Williamson lived there a weaver by trade

And all of us thought him a stout Orange blade

On the twelfth of July as it yearly did come

Bob played on the flute to the sound of the drum

You can talk of your fiddles your harp or your lute

But there's nothing could sound like the Old Orange Flute

But the treacherous scoundrel he took us all in

For he married a Papist named Bridget McGinn

Turned Papish himself and forsook the Old Cause

That gave us our freedom religion and laws

And the boys in the county made such a stir on it

They forced Bob to flee to the province of Connaught

Took with him his wife and his fixins to boot

And along with the rest went the Old Orange Flute

Each Sunday at mass to atone for past deeds

Bob said Paters and Aves and counted his beads

Till one Sunday morn at the priest's own require

Bob went for to play with the flutes in the choir

He went for to play with the flutes in the mass

But the instrument quivered and cried O Alas

And blow as he would though he made a great noise

The flute would play only The Protestant Boys

Bob jumped up and huffed and was all in a flutter

He pitched the old flute in the blest holy water

He thought that this charm would bring some other sound

When he tried it again it played Croppies Lie Down

And for all he would finger and twiddle and blow

For to play Papish music the flute would not go

Kick the Pope to Boyne Water was all it would sound

Not one Papish bleat in it could e'er be found

At a 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 another to play in its stead

And the Old Flute was doomed and its fate was pathetic

'Twas fastened and burnt at the stake as heretic

As the flames rose around it you could hear a strange noise

'Twas the Old Flute still a-whistlin' The Protestant Boys

Toora lu toora lay

Oh it's six miles from Bangor to Donnahadee