Saint Patrick drove snakes from the land|With nothing but faith and his hand|They slithered away|On that glorious day|And Ireland was finally grand.
On March seventeen we wear green|The finest that ever was seen|We dance and we sing|And our glasses we cling|To honor the patron so keen.
A shamrock has leaves numbering three|A symbol of the Trinity|Saint Patrick would show|To help people know|The mystery of One being Three.
The rivers run green through the town|Where laughter has replaced every frown|With music and cheer|And plenty of beer|No sadness can keep spirits down.
At the end of the rainbow they say|Is a pot of gold hidden away|The leprechaun guards|His treasure so hard|But dreamers still search to this day.