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 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 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 about
'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

And to establish terra firma he drew up a ten year plan
And he started running bingo around nineteen sixty-one
He built a fabulous 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 retreat, now it's 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
We had the Blessed Virgin here, Father Horan did declare
And Foster and Allen, they appeared just over there
Now do you mean to tell me, says he in total shock
That I am not entitled to an auld airport here in Knock
The 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 abortive building airports up in Knock
Now everyone is happy and the miracle it's complete
Father Horan's got his auld runway - and it's eighteen thousand feet
All sorts of planes could land there, of that there's little doubt
It'll be handy now for George Bush to knock Gadafi out

From Fatima to Bethlehem and from Lourdes to Kiltimagh
I've never seen a miracle like the airport up in Knock

Now poor old Father Jim is gone to the airport in the sky
And down on Barr na Cuiga he keeps a friendly eye
On Ryanair and Aer Lingus as they fly to and fro
We'll never see his likes again on the planes of sweet Mayo
Did NATO donate the dough, my boys, did NATO donate the dough
Did NATO donate the dough, my boys, did NATO donate the dough

From Fatima to Bethlehem and from Lourdes to Kiltimagh
I've never seen a miracle like the airport up in Knock