Ah ! What ignoble hand doth dare blaspheme
Or pour its slander on God’s chosen team
Non ! But the Devil’s would attempt to sully
The hallowed saintly name of Charlie Tully

Sure me heart was sore an’ achin’
When I read your first wee ode
But your second left me shakin’
Wi’ a God’s own angry load

Me wrath, the saints would pardon
‘Twould be their very own
If ye wrote about “their” garden
Wi’ the sacrilege ye’ve shown

I’m sure St Patrick’s boilin’
At yer awful pagan verse
An’ his holy lips be soilin’
Ragin’ every lrish curse

For the lad ye’re after scornin’
ls a gem from lreland’s crown.
Sure the land where he was born in
Has McGuires in ev’ry town

‘Tis their clan would be a’wailin’
O’er the Carron traitor’s pen
Each word would be a nail in
The souls of these proud men

‘Twould surely start the trouble
Ould lreland knew so well
They’d muster at the double
From Dublin down to Hell

But a blow we’ll soon be strikin’
ln Charlie Tully’s name
It’s a blow to, O’Woods likin’
Where our uncle’s cast a shame

We’ll raise triumphant cairns
When Celtic make their mark
At the teachin’ of the Bairns
We’ll meet at Brockville Park.

John Mallaghan