Knock Song

Christy Moore

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At the early age of thirty-eight Me mother said ‘Go West!’
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‘Get up, ‘ says she. ‘and get a job’. Says I, ‘I’ll do my best’
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I pulled on me Wellingtons to march to Kiltimagh
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But I took a wrong turn in Charlestown and ended up in Knock

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Oh once this quiet crossroads was a place of gentle prayer
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Where Catholics got indulgent once or twice a year.
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You could buy a pair of rosary beads or get your candles blessed
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If you had a guilty conscience you could get it off your chest.

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Then came the priest form Partry father Horan was his name
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And since he’s been appointed Knock has never been the same.
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‘Begod,’ says Jem, ’tis eighty years since Mary was adout.’
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‘Tis time for another miracle.’ and he blew the candle out.


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From Fatima to Bethlehem, from Lourdes to Kiltimagh,
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There’s never been a miracle like the airport up in Knock

To establish terra firma he draw up a ten year plan
And started running dances around 1961.
He built a fantabulous church, Go h-álainn, 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 top 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 in Knock.’

TD’s were lobbied and harassed with talk of promised votes
And people who’d been 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 George Bush to keep knock Gadaffi out.

Did NATO donate, me boys, did NATO donate the dough?
Did NATO donate, 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 an awful long way to go.