Irish traditional song lyrics — collected by Beer Belly Band.
He was driving up to Mallaig, Glenfinnan by Loch Shiel,
Heading for Lochailort, content behind the wheel,
The road was getting narrower… the sign said slow,
It’s the Highland daily dodgems, it’s the 8-3-0.
There is a natural assumption that ‘A’ roads are wide,
Enough to take a car… and one the other side,
Tourist information, will never, never tell,
It’s like driving through heaven on a road made for hell.
Cos it’s a single track, you can’t turn back,
The stories are all the same, of the tourists leaving Corpach,
Never seen again… Don’t go, on the 8-3-0.
There’s a joke in the highlands, it’s called a ‘passing place’,
Where French stay for chips… and English stay for days and days and days,
When lorries lose control… you’ve got one last wish,
“Don’t let me die under 20 tons of fish”.
Cos it’s a single track, you can’t turn back,
A nightmare without end,
Eyes ahead, ‘cos Nigel Mansell’s waiting round the bend…
Don’t go, on the 8-3-0.
Whoever called this road a road was telling little lies
The 8-3-O’s a sheep-track in very thin disguise,
Italian caravanettes, driving on the right,
Meeting Wallace Arnold buses in the middle of the night.
Of the man that’s stopping progress, a theory’s going around,
That he owns the biggest breakers yard this side of Mallaig town,
You can see him in the gloaming, towing wrecks from where they lie,
And he turns them into girders for the bridge across to Skye.
And it’s a single track, he’s in Mallaig and now he feels no pain,
He’s dumped his car; he’s in the bar he’s steaming back by train… on a single track, you can’t turn back
The moral’s very plain, it’s grand to visit Mallaig… but it’s safer by MacBrane,
Don’t go on the 8-3-0, Don’t go on the 8-3-0, Don’t go on the 8-3-0.