Och! Father McGlynn,
Ye appear to be in
Fer a bit of a bout wid the Pope;
An’ there’s devil a doubt
But he’s knockin’ ye out
While ye’re hangin’ onto the rope.
An’ soon ye’ll lave home
To thravel to Rome,
For its bound to Canossa ye are.
Persistin’ to shtay
When ye’re ordered away—
Bedad! that is goin’ too far!