John Banim - The New Reformation lyrics

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John Banim - The New Reformation lyrics

Oh, did you hear What roaring cheer, What brave new coats and breeches, O, And new shoes, too, For all of you, Whose ould brogues wanted stitches, O, Were ready got, When that they thought The popish of this nation, O, To dress, and do, And feed into Their grand new Reformation, O? Diddheradoo! Hubbabubboo! Their grand new Reformation, O! That, in a shake, They swore would make Its own of our poor nation, O! Their cause to prop, The praty--crop That year fail'd in ould Erin, O; And hungry sowls, Wid windy bow'lls, And duds apast all wearin', O, To Cavan went, And home were sent Well coated and soft--hearted, O, Who, all the way, To the Saints did say-- ``Och! it's we that are convarted, O! With your diddheradoo! And your hubbabubboo! And your grand new Reformation, O; That, in a shake, Its own will make Of our poor bastely nation, O!'' A nate young crop Meantime did pop Up through ould Erin, gratis, O, Which, when they found, The raps turn'd round Again, wid the new praties, O-- Saying--``As fine saints, And Protestants, We et your good mate dinners, O, But the praty--food Must now be chew'd By common popish sinners, O! Diddheradoo! Hubbabubboo! Your grand new Reformation, O! That, in a shake, Ye swore would make Its own of Ireland's nation, O!'' The saints grew cross At their dead loss, And at such popish traison, O, And, day by day, I'm loth to say, For the same they got more raison, O; Some convarts fell, Through fear of hell, Back to the ould persuasion, O-- Some did demand Too much in hand To work out their salvation, O; Diddheradoo! Hubbabubboo! The grand new Reformation, O! Sure, in a shake, Its own 'twill make Of our benighted nation, O! Tom Hews did crave, His sowl to save, A pair of shoes so dainty, O-- For the Romish rogues Alone wear brogues, And the shoes are nate and sainty, O;-- And the saints said ``Yes,'' But nevertheless, Wid the brogues they thought to blind him, O; ``No,'' says Tom Hews, ``You promised--shoes''-- And he left the brogues behind him, O;-- ``Diddheradoo! And hubbabubboo! Your grand new Reformation, O! Is this the way Ye think to pay The convarts of the nation, O?'' In church, you know, From hait, below, (And faith, I like their notion, O,) The saints contrive To keep alive The warmth of their devotion, O, And, to be sure, Down in the flure They've holes made in ould iron, O, Through which the hait Comes up, complate, And you never see the firin', O; Diddheradoo! And hubbabubboo! Your grand new Reformation, O! And, loock and speed To the snuggest creed That's prach'd in Paddy's nation, O! Not knowing this, Poor Bridget Twiss, Bent on her recantation, O, Stood over the holes, Till she thought the coals Of red--hot hell her station, O; And her petticoat Did puff and float, By the hait swell'd like a bladder, O-- Then Breedge ran out, Wid her murther--shout, And swore 'twas the divvle had her, O! ``Diddheradoo! Hubbabubboo! Is this your Reformation, O? Och! here I'm back, Ye bastely pack, To the ould faith of the nation, O!'' Ould blind Moll Roe, Her zale to show, Of a Friday et their bacon, O, And the spare--rib claw Stuck in her maw, The first bite she had taken. O-- Then sore she bawl'd, And loudly call'd On the saints above for marcy, O, Crying, in her race, As she quit the place-- ``Och, where are you father Darcy, O! Ullaloo! And my curse on you, For one grand Reformation, O, That makes us ate Your divvle's mate Of a Friday, in this nation, O!'' These things, and more, The saints made sore, Until at last 'twas tould 'em, O, That not a rap They did entrap, But to the priest had sould 'em, O; And, worse than that, Ould father Pat Was spreading through the nation, O, Among themselves, By tens and twelves, The thruth of a Reformation, O! Diddheradoo! Now what'll they do Wid their grand new Reformation, O, That, in a shake, They swore would make Its own of our poor nation, O? Lord Farnham tax'd His brains, and ax'd His lady for direction, O-- And, says she, ``My lord, Upon my word, The day of true election, O, Is not so near As we did hear, For this benighted nation, O, So, till it comes, Let's save our crumbs For the next new Reformation, O! So, Ullaloo! And wirrasthroo! Their grand new Reformation, O, That now must take Some time to make Its own of Ireland's nation, O!