Old Orange Flute

Lyrics and Chords

You can sing the chorus between each verse, but it is often sung just once at the end of the song.

 

In the  

C 

County Tyrone, in the  

G7 

town of Dun

C 

gannon

 

Where many a  

F 

ruction 

 

my

G7 

self had a han’ in

 

Bob  

C 

Williamson 

 

 

Em 

lived there, a  

F 

weaver by  

C 

trade

 

And all of  

F 

us thought him a  

G7 

stout-Orange 

 

 

C 

blade.

 

On the twelfth of July as a

F 

round it would come

 

Bob  

C 

played on the flute to the  

G7 

sound of the drum

 

You may

F 

talk of your  

Em 

harp, your  

F 

piano or  

C 

lute

 

But there’s nothing  

F 

compared with the  

G7 

ould Orange  

C 

flute.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chorus

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But Bob, the deceiver, he took us all in -

For he married a Papist named Bridget McGinn.

Turned Papist himself and forsook the old cause

That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.

Now the boys in the place made some comment upon it,

And Bob had to fly to the Province of Connaught;

He fled with his wife and his fixings, to boot,

And along with the latter his old Orange flute.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the Chapel on Sundays to atone for past deeds,

He said Paters and Aves and counted his beads,

Till after some time, at the priest’s own desire

He went with his old flute to play in the choir.

He went with his old flute to play in the Mass,

And the instrument shivered, and sighed:”Oh Alas!”

And blow as he would, though it made a great noise,

The flute would play only “The Protestant Boys”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bob jumped and he started and got into a flutter,

He threw his old flute in the blest Holy Water;

He thought that this charm would bring some other sound,

When he blew it again, it played “Croppies Lie Down!”

And for all he could whistle and finger and blow,

To play Papist music, he found it not go;

“Kick the Pope”, “The Boyne Water” it freely would sound

But one Papist squeakin it couldn’t be found.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At a council of priests that was held the next day,

They decided to banish the old flute away;

For they couldn’t knock heresy out of its head

And they bought Bob a new one to play in its stead.

So the old flute was doomed, and its fate was pathetic

”Twas fastened and burnt at the stake as heretic.

While the flames roared around it, they heard a strange noise

”Twas the old flute still whistling “The Protestant Boys”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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