Lyrics

Ye gods assist my poor lamentation
Ye inspired muses lend me your hand
While I bravely do make a bold endeavour
To sing the praises of these lovely lands
Well situated in north of Ireland
Being in the county of ould Tyrone
Near to Lough Neagh of the tranquil waters
Is that ancient fabric of ould Arboe

In summer season for recreation
You can careless wander along the strand
Where Boreas' breezes are always blowing
To […] the fabric stands
It was St. Patrick who did ordain
That great stone cross should be raised on high
As a reminder to simple Christians
That on the cross God's Son did die

Oh spend awhile in yon wooded arbour
Where the purling streams they run to and fro
Where the trout and salmon are always sporting
To yield more bounty to ould Arboe
No serpents lurk in those tranquil waters
No odious poison infests the breeze
But peace and plenty to her sons and daughters
Abound around you old sweet Lough Neagh

I've travelled France and I've travelled Flanders
And all the countries beyond the Rhine
But in all my rakings and serenading
Arboe your equal I ne'er could find
My course I've taken by the Indian oceans
To the shores of Canna and Galilee
But in all my raging aye and serenading
Arboe your equal I ne'er could see

see also   Old Arboe / Mick McIlhenney