The Kilfinane Parish

His name is Patrick Lee and he’s a right and pious man
He is the proper parish priest up there in Kilfinane
If I’d a shiny penny for each hour of his refrains
I’d buy a round for Limerick and feed it with the change
We all go up to Kilfinane
In Sunday morning rain
With holes in all our trousers
And devils in our brains
We all go up to Kilfinane
And what’s it all to you
Liquefied, glassy-eyed
And lurching in the pews
It happens on a Saturday, they come from far and near
Some bring port and whiskey, and some bring malted beer
At old McFadden’s cottage 'till the dawning of the day
Roaring up and staggering and drunk in disarray
We all go up to Kilfinane
In Sunday morning rain
With holes in all our trousers
And devils in our brains
We all go up to Kilfinane
And what’s it all to you
Liquefied, glassy-eyed
And lurching in the pews
O’Donnell brings a fiddle and there’s music at the bar
There’s pretty Jane McDougall and she’s serving up the jars
By seven in the morning, O’Leary’s in the lurch
We’ll drop him in the wheelbarrow, and head towards the church
We all go up to Kilfinane
In Sunday morning rain
With holes in all our trousers
And devils in our brains
We all go up to Kilfinane
And what’s it all to you
Liquefied, glassy-eyed
And lurching in the pews