With her dowdy old hat, and her hair pasted flat,
And her skirt bobbing after her heel;
And there to the church she will steal,
And under the lamp she will kneel
When confessions are done, and there’s never a one
To be heard but that Norah O’Neill.
It annoys the priest’s man a great deal,
And it makes every one boogathiel
At him scraping the floor, yes, and rattlin’ the door
Just to hurry my lady O’Neill.