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Christy Moore
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Knock Airport
At the early age of thirty-eight, my mother said, Go west! Get up, says she, And get a job! Says I, I'll do my best I pulled on my wellingtons to march to Kiltimagh But I took a wrong turn in Charlestown and I 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 rosaries or get your candles blessed If you had a guilty conscience you could get it off your chest Then came the priest from Partry, Father Horan was his name Ever since he's been appointed Knock has never been the same Begod, says Jim, 'Tis eighty years since Mary was adout 'Tis time for another miracle, and he blew the candle out From Fatima to Bethlehem and from Lourdes to Kiltimagh I've never seen a miracle like the airport up in Knock To establish terra firma he drew up a ten year plan And he started running dances around nineteen sixty-one He built a basilica upon the Holy Ground And once he had a focal point he started to expand Chip shops and bed and breakfasts sprung up overnight 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 could get a mighty feed 更多更详尽歌词 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔镜歌词网 We had the Blessed Virgin here, Father Horan did declare And The Rubberbandits, appeared just over there Now do you mean to tell me, says Jim in total shock That I am not entitled to an auld airport here in Knock From Fatima to Bethlehem and from Lourdes to Kiltimagh I've never seen a miracle like the airport up in Knock TDs were lobbied and harrassed with talk of promised votes And people who'd been loyal for years spoke of changing coats Excommunication was threatened upon the flock Who said it was irreverant building airports up in Knock Ah but everyone is happy now, the miracle it's complete Father Horan's got his runway - it's eighteen thousand feet The pilgrims in their thousands descending down the steps Of the auld de Havilland aeroplanes and Virgin jumbo jets Ah now poor auld Father Jim has gone to the airport in the sky And down in Barnacuige he keeps a friendly eye On Ryanair and Aer Linguses as they fly to and fro We'll never see his likes again on the plains of sweet Mayo From Fatima to Bethlehem and from Lourdes to Kiltimagh I've never seen a miracle like the airport up in Knock
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