Luyện nghe bài hát The Old Orange Flute

The Old Flute
In the Tyrone, in the town of Dungannon
Where many a meself had a hand in
Bob lived there, a weaver by trade
And all of us thought him a blade.
On the of July as it yearly did come
Bob on the flute to the sound of the drum
You can of your fiddles, your harp or your lute
But there's could sound like the Old Orange Flute.
But the scoundrel, he took us all in
For he married a Papish named Bridget
Turned Papish and forsook the Old Cause
That us our freedom, religion and laws.
And the boys in the county such a stir on it
forced Bob to flee to the province of Connaught;
Took with him his and his fixins, to boot,
And along with the went the Old Orange Flute.
Sunday at mass, to atone for past deeds,
Bob said and Aves and counted his beads
Till one Sunday morn, at the own require
Bob went for to play the flutes in the choir.
He went for to with the flutes in the mass
But the quivered and cried."O Alas!"
And blow as he would, though he made a noise,
The flute would play only "The Boys".
Bob up and huffed, and was all in a flutter.
He pitched the old in the best holy water;
He thought that charm would bring some other sound,
When he it again, it played "Croppies Lie Down!"
And for all he would and twiddle and blow
For to play Papish music, the flute not go;
"Kick the Pope" to "Boyne Water" was all it sound
Not one Papish bleat in it e'er be found.
At a of priests that was held the next day
They decided to the Old Flute away;
They couldn't knock out of its head
So bought Bob another to play in its stead.
And the Old Flute was doomed, and its fate was
fastened and burnt at the stake as heretic.
As the flames rose around it, you hear a strange noise
the Old Flute still a-whistlin' "The Protestant Boys".
Note: the tune Protestant Boys is also as Lilliburlero RG
by Patric Galvin, Clancys
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