Famous Sir Seamus and his Oul Orange Flute.


  In Belfast Town where they built the Titanic,

The folk are all merry but oftimes bit manic;

James Galway he lived there a fluter by trade,

And sure all of us thought him a stout Orange blade.

On the 12th of July as it yearly did come,

James played on the flute to the sound of the drum;

You may talk of piano or fiddle or lute,

But nothing can sound like the oul Orange Flute.


But this cunning wee fluter was just having us on,

He took off with flute to away far out beyon’;

He forsook his oul mates and forsook the oul cause,

That gave us our freedom religion and laws.

He played on his Orange flute far away from his home,

He played it in Paris, in Berlin and in Rome;

His tunes got folk happy, they marched up and down,

It was just like the Twelfth Day in Belfast Town.


But the powers-that-be in the world out beyon’,

Don’t like their folk marching when the notion comes on;

So they took away his Orange flute and smashed it to shreds,

And gave him a gold flute to play in it’s stead.

Now this new gold flute it turned out quite magic,

It played the new pop tunes the jazz and the classic;

But try as he would to get the oul noise,

No gold flute e’er plays the Protestant Boys.


No more Dolly’s Braes no more Boyne Water,

And soon Derry’s Walls no more did matter;

For James lost the bap when big money he made,

And soon forgot he was e’er a stout Orange blade.

When word of all this came back o’er the ocean,

The boys in Belfast they riz a commotion;

But James just laughs now for he’s rich and famous,

He curses King Billy and calls himself Seamus.

     Oh alas! Oh dearie me,

     He curses King Billy and calls himself Seamus.






Traditional Ulster-Scots musician, storyteller and writer.

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