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
chorus: 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 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