The Thornlie Boys - Auld Orange Flute

The Thornlie Boys - Auld Orange Flute

The Old Orange Flute
In the county Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon
Where many a ruckus meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived 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 may talk of your harp, your piano or your lute
But nothing could sound like the Auld Orange Flute
But nothing could sound like the Auld Orange Flute

But the treacherous scoundrel, he took us all in
For he married a Papish called Bridget McGinn
Turned Papish himself and forsook the Old Cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.
Though the boys in the town made some noise upon it
And Bob had to flee to the province of Connaught;
He fled with his wife and fixins, to boot,
And along with the others the Auld Orange Flute.
And along with the others the Auld Orange Flute.

At the chapel on sundays, to atone for past deeds,
He said Paters and Aves and counted his beads
Though 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
But the instrument quivered and sighted."O Alas!"
When he blew it and fingered,and made a great noise,
The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys".
The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys".

Bob jumped, and he started, and got in a splutter,
And threw his old flute in the blessed Holy Water;
He thought that this charm would bring some other sound
But when he played it again, it played "Croppies Lie Down."
And for all he could whistle, and finger, and blow,
To play Papish music he found it no go;
"Kick The Pope," and "Boyne Water," such light it would sound
But one Papish squeak in it couldn't be found.
But one Papish squeak in it couldn't be found.

At the 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,
So they bought Bob another to play in its stead.
The old flute was doomed, and its fate was pathetic,
It was fastened and burned at the stake as heretic.
And as the flames roared around it, they heard a strange noise
It was the Auld flute still whistlin' "The Protestant Boys!"

It was the Auld flute still whistlin' "The Protestant Boys!"

It was the Auld flute still whistlin' "The Protestant Boys!"

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