I found it!!! It turns out that my cousin had a copy in a pile of papers yellowed with age and half forgotten. Spellings are altered (not by me) to suggest an Irish pronunciation for certain words, and I'm leaving those as I find them. Now if I can just keep the lines separated in this mudcat format!
Saint Kevin and King O'Toole
As St. Kevin once was thravlin' through a place called Glendalough
He met with King O'Toole, and he asked him for a shock.
Said the King you are a stranger and your face I've niver seen,
But if you'd like a taste of weed, I'll lend you my dhudeen.
Chorus: With my falderal de dido, falderal da de Falderal, talol dadol, falderal da de
While the Saint was kindlin' up his pipe, the monarch haved a sigh
Said the Saint, "What ails your magesty - - and why do you cry?"
Said the King, " I had a gander that was left me by me mither,
But this mornin' he cocked up his toes with some disease or ither."
Chorus: (as before, and after each verse)
"If you're frettin' for your gander, you unfortunate old goose,
Dry up your tears – in sighin' the divil take the use!"
Said the saint "What would you give me if your gander I'd revive?"
Said the king I'd be your sarvin' man all the days I am alive.
"Now in trothen," said St. Kevin, I don't need a sarvin' man,
But I could find a good use for a little stretch of land.
So if your gander I revive and make quite whole and sound
Would you give to me the bit of land the gander might fly round?"
"To be sure I will and gladly," said the King, "do what you ask,"
Said the Saint, "Then fetch the gander; let me begin the task."
So the King went in the castle to bring him out the bird,
Though he hadn't the least intention then of shtickin' to his worrd.
Then the Saint he took the gander from the arrums of the King –
He first began to twitch its beak, and then to pluck its wing –
He wooshed it up into the air — it flew forty miles around!
Said the Saint, "I"ll thank you kindly for that little taste of ground."
Now the King, to raise a ruction, sure he called the Saint a witch,
And summoned his six big sons to heave him in a ditch.
"By St. Patrick," says St Kevin, "I"ll punish those young urchins!"
And he turned the King and his six big sons into the seven churches.
So you see the King was punished sore for his dishonest doin's –
The Saint he left the gander there to guard about the ruins,
And if you're there on a summer day twixt twelve and one o"clock,
You'll see that gander still flying 'round the Lakes of Glendalough.
Now you see there is a moral strong attached unto my song –
To punish men is always right whenever they do wrong.
For poor folks keep their worrd much better than folks that's grander,
Like the King who grudged to pay the Saint for curing his dead gander.
Well ... there it is, as best it has been carried over stateside by the Flynn (my) family. I would be very interested to see the words from a songbook and see to what extent we have diverged.
repeating message fixed by mudelf ;-)