St. Patrick was a gentleman, and came of decent people;
In Dublin town he built a church and on’t he put a steeple;
His father was a Houlihan, his mother was a lady,
His uncle was O’Shaughnessy, and his aunt a Widow Grady.
The success to bold St. Patrick’s fist,
He was a saint so clever,
He gave the snakes and toads a twist
And banished them forever!

Oh! Feltrim Hill is very high, so is the Hill of Howth, too,
But there’s a hill that is hard by, much higher than them both too;
‘Twas on the top of this high hill St. Patrick preached a sarmin,
He made the frogs skip thro’ the bogs, and banished all the varmin!

There’s not a mile in Ire;and’s Isle where the dirty varmin musters;
Where’er he put his dear fore foot, he murdered them in clusters:
The toads went hop, the frogs went pop, slap haste into the waters,
And the snakes committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter.

Nine hundred thousand vipers blue he charmed with sweet discourses,
And dined on them at Killaloe, in soups and second courses;
With blind-worms crawling on the grass disgusted the whole nation,
He gave them a rise, and opened their eyes to a sense of their own situation.

Oh! Then, should I be so fortunate as to get back to Munster,
Sure I’ll be bound that from that ground I ne’er will once stir;
‘Twas there St. Patrick planted turf, and plenty of the praties,
With pigs galore, machree asthore! And buttermilk and ladies!

No wonder that we Irish lads should be so free and frisky,
Since St. Patrick taught us first the knack of drinking of good whiskey;
‘Twas he that brewed the best of malt, and understood distilling,
For his mother she kept a shebeen shop in the town of Inniskillen

Most of the songs which mention the Shamrock were written by people who left Ireland and are nostalgic.