Of priests we can offer a charmin’ variety, 
Far renowned for larnin’ and piety; 
Still, I’d advance ye widout impropriety, 
Father O’Flynn as the flower of them all. 

Chorus:
  Here’s a health to you, Father O’Flynn, 
  Slainté and slainté and slainté agin; 
  Powerfulest preacher, and
  Tenderest teacher, and 
  Kindliest creature in ould Donegal. 

Don’t talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity, 
Famous forever at Greek and Latinity, 
Dad and the divels and all at Divinity 
Father O’Flynn’d make hares of them all! 
Come, I vinture to give ye my word, 
Never the likes of his logic was heard, 
Down from mythology
Into thayology, 
Troth! and conchology if he’d the call. 

Here’s a health to you, Father O’Flynn…..

Och! Father O’Flynn, you’ve the wonderful way wid you, 
All ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you, 
All the young childer are wild for to play wid you, 
You’ve such a way wid you, Father avick. 
Still, for all you’ve so gentle a soul, 
Gad, you’ve your flock in the grandest control, 
Checking the crazy ones, 
Coaxin' onaisy ones, 
Liftin' the lazy ones on wid the stick. 

Here’s a health to you, Father O’Flynn….

And tho’ quite avoidin’ all foolish frivolity; 
Still at all seasons of innocent jollity, 
Where was the play-boy could claim an equality, 
At comicality, Father, wid you? 
Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest, 
Till this remark set him off wid the rest: 
"Is it lave gaiety
All to the laity? 
Cannot the clergy be Irishmen, too?”

Here’s a health to you, Father O’Flynn….