There's a vigorously Catlic Irish song also called 'Whiskey in the Jar'. It goes:

One Sunday morning, as I was going to Mass,
I met a bloody Orangeman and killed him for his past,
Killed him for his past and sent his soul to Hell,
And when he got there he'd a strange tale to tell.

Chorus: Falderaddle-rye, Falderaddle-rye,
         Falderaddle-rye-raddy,
         There's whiskey in the jar.

When an Orangeman dies and his toes turn cold,
The worms'll have his body and the Devil has his soul,
The Devil he's a-laughing, a-singing out for joy,
'I've a warm spot picked out for you, me bold Orange boy!'

If I had two yards of an Orangeman's skin,
I'd make it into drums for the bold Fenian Men,
The drums they would rattle, the fifes they would play,
And we'd all go to Mass on Saint Patrick's Day.

Personally I really love those old traditional expressions of religious warmth!