When it’s time for a meal, and goes off to the nuns,
Who’re deceived in the Presbyt’ry Dog.
When he follows the priest to the bush, there is war.
He inspects the whole place at a jog,
And he puts on great airs and fine antics galore,
While he chases the sheep till we’re after his gore,
Though he may be the Presbyt’ry Dog.
’Twas last Sunday a dog in the church went ahead
With an ill-bred and loud monologue,
And the priest said some things that would shiver the dead,