Of priests we can offer a charmin' variety,
Far renown'd for learnin' and piety;
Still, I'd advance ye widout impropriety,
Father O'Flynn as the flow'r of them all.
cho: Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn,
Slainte and slainte and slainte agin;
Pow'rfulest preacher, and tenderest teacher,
And kindliest creature in ould Donegal.
Don't talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity,
Famous forever at Greek and Latinity,
Dad and the divils and all at Divinity
Father O'Flynn 'd make hares of them all!
Come, I venture to give ye my word,
Never the likes of his logic was heard,
Down from mythology into thayology,
Truth! and conchology if he'd the call.
Och Father O'Flynn, you've a wonderful way wid you,
All ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you,
All the young childer are wild for to play wid you,
You've such a way wid you, Father avick.
Still for all you've so gentle a soul,
Gad, you've your flock in the grandest control,
Checking the crazy ones, coaxin' onaisy ones,
Lifting the lazy ones on wid the stick.
And tho quite avoidin' all foolish frivolity;
Still at all seasons of innocent jollity,
Where was the playboy could claim an equality,
At comicality, Father, wid you?
Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest,
Till this remark set him off wid the rest:
"Is it lave gaiety all to the laity?
Cannot the clergy be Irishmen, too?"
tune: Top O' Cork Road