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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
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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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