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Son of Azpeitia
Ignatious the Saint
In history a great lifter
Of petticoats
Oh, that was great gonorrhea,
Ignatious the Saint!
A thousand ducats
On the backs of the people
Damn
The caste of the Loiolas
By the sweat of others
A thousand ducats
In the front line he goes
This son of Oņaz
Foot and leg
Through Castle
Beautiful toad
In the front line he goes
In Pamplona he won
His limp
Sold Navarre
To the enemy
Not the worst thing
His limp
See how he goes
Limping to the altar
Finding himself a place
Amongst the apostles
The devil himself
Limping to the altar
The army of the Lord
Which he founded then
Is the mother
Of the dirtiest wars
The shadiest in the world
The army of the Lord
Armed wing
At the service of God
Greatly pacified
By the dollar
Somewhat rotten
Armed wing
Beautiful basilica
In Loiola appeared
Heaven's tax collectors
Shake the box
Christ crucified
Beautiful basilica
The servant of God
Soft talking
Those bogs of Loiola!
The sermon is white
But the surplice is dirty
The servant of God
In the quagmires of Loiola
Splodge-splodge,
We have sung
Some of the merits of the Saint
Many more of them go splodge-splodge
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