Here am I, a loyal orange man, From Ulster's shores I came, To see my Glasgow brethren, Of honour and of fame, And to tell them of my forefathers, Who fought in days of yore,
All on the twelfth day of July, In the sash my father wore. It is old, but it is beautiful, And its colours they are fine,
It was worn a day after noon, In a skillet and a pan, My father wore it when a youth, In bygone days of yore, And it's on the twelfth I love, To wear this sash my father wore.
So here I am in Glasgow town, Years boys and girls to see, And I hope in good old orange style, You'll always welcome me, A true blue blade that's just a rag, From that dear Ulster shore.
All on the twelfth day of July, In the sash my father wore. And now I'm going to leave you all, Good luck to you's I'll say, And as I cross the raging sea, My orange flute I'll play,
Returning to my native town, To old Belfast once more, To be welcomed back by orange men, In the sash my father wore.
It is old, but it is beautiful, And its colours they are fine, It was worn a day after noon, In a skillet and a pan, My father wore it when a youth, In bygone days of yore,
And it's on the twelfth I love, To wear this sash my father wore.