One Sunday mornin as I was going to Mass
I met a bloody Orangeman, and killed him for his pass
I killed him for his pass, me boys, and sent him straight to hell
And when he got to hell, he had a strange tale to tell!

CHORUS:
Fol de rolly rye, fol de rolly rye
Fol de rolly rolly rolly, whiskey's in the jar!

When an Orangeman dies his toes turn cold
the worms take his body, and the Devil takes his soul
The gates of hell fly open, and the Devil cries for joy:
"I've got a spot prepared for you, my bold Orange boy!"

If I had a yard of an Orangeman's skin
I'd make it into drums for the bold Fenian men
the drums all would rattle, and the pipes they would play
as we all march ta Mass on St. Patrick's Day!