Patrick’s Arrival Christy Moore

Patrick's Arrival
(William Maginn)

You've heard of St. Denis of France
He never had much for to brag on
You've heard of St. George and his lance
Who killed d'old heathenish dragon
The Saints of the Welshmen and Scot
Are a couple of pitiful pipers
And might just as well go to pot
When compared to the patron of vipers:
St. Patrick of Ireland, my dear
He sailed to the Emerald Isle
On a lump of pavin' stone mounted
He beat the steamboat by a mile
Which mighty good sailing was counted
Says he, "The salt water, I think
Has made me unmerciful thirsty;
So bring me a flagon to drink
To wash down the mullygrups, burst ye
Of drink that is fit for a Saint."

He preached then with wonderful force
The ignorant natives a teaching
With wine washed down each discourse
For, says he, "I detest your dry preaching."
The people in wonderment struck
At a pastor so pious and civil
Exclaimed, "We're for you, my old buck
And we'll heave our blind Gods to the divil
Who dwells in hot water below."