Irish traditional song lyrics — collected by Beer Belly Band.
At the early age of thirty-eight me mother sent West
“Get up,” sez she, “and get a job.” Sez I, “I’ll do me best.”
I pulled on my Wellingtons to march Kiltimagh
But I took a wrong turn in Charlestown and ended up in Knock
Once this quiet crossroads was a place of gentle prayer
Where Catholics got indulgent once or twice a year
You could buy a pair of rosary beads or get your candles blessed
If you had a guilty conscience you could get it off your chest
Then came the priest from Patry, Father Horan was his name
And since he’s been appointed Knock has never been the same
“Begod,” sez Jem, ” “tis eighty years since Mary was a doubt.”
“Tis time for another miracle.” He blew the candle out
Chorus:
From Fatima to Bethlehem from Lourdes to Kiltimagh
There’s never been a miracle like the airport up in Knock
To establish terra firma he drew up a ten year plan
And started running dances around nineteen sixty-one
He built a fantabalous church, me girls, all on the holy ground
And once he had a focal point he started to expand
Chip shops and Bed and Breakfasts sprung up over night
Once a place for quiet retreats now a holy sight
All sorts of fancy restaurants for every race and creed
Where black and white and yellow pilgrims all could get a feed
The stalls once under canvas became religious supermarts
With such a range o’ godly goods, they had up twenty charts
While the airport opposition was destroyed by James’ trump card.
For centenary celebrations he got John Paul the twenty-third.
“We had the Blessed virgin here,” Bold Jamesie did declare,
“And Pope John Paul the twenty-third appeared just over there.”
“Now do you mean to tell me,” he said in total shock,
“That I am not entitled to an airport here Knock.”
TD’s were lobby and harassed with talk of promised votes
And people who’d loyal for years now spoke of changing coats
Eternal damnation was threatened on the flock
Who said it was abortive building airports up in Knock
Now everyone is happy, the miracle is complete.
Father Horan’s got his runway it’s eighteen thousand feet
All sorts of planes could land there, of that there’s little doubt
Handy for the Yankees to keep the Russians out
Did NATO donate the dough, me boys, did NATO donate the dough
Did NATO donate the dough, me girls, did NATO donate the dough
Did NATO donate the dough, the dough, did NATO donate the dough
Eighteen thousand feet of runway is a mighty long way to go, oh oh