Title – Father Flynn’s Bicycle
Verse 1
Now Father Flynn of County Cork
Was loved by one and all
He christened babes and buried souls
And answered every call
A kindly priest, a decent man
Respected far and wide
Though some folk raised an eyebrow at
The bicycle he’d ride
Verse 2
That bicycle was old and black
With rust upon the frame
And nearly every soul in Cork
Could recognise its name
It rattled over country roads
In sunshine, wind and rain
And always seemed to know the route
Before Father Flynn explained
Chorus
Oh, Father Flynn’s bicycle
Has a mind all of its own
It knows each road in County Cork
And every stepping stone
Oh, Father Flynn’s bicycle
No wiser soul could know
For somehow it arrives each time
Before he’s said where to go
Verse 3
Old Mick said, “Father, yesterday
I saw it by O’Shea’s.”
The Father smiled and tipped his hat,
“As part of parish ways.
Mrs O’Brien needed help,
A visit had to be.”
Old Mick just nodded thoughtfully,
“Next door, conveniently.”
Verse 4
The following week at Murphy’s Pub
The bicycle appeared
And three days later down at Doyle’s
Exactly as they feared
The Father said, “Now hold on there,
You’re jumping to conclusions.”
Old Mick replied, “Perhaps the bike
Has pastoral ambitions.”
Chorus
Oh, Father Flynn’s bicycle
Has a mind all of its own
It knows each road in County Cork
And every stepping stone
Oh, Father Flynn’s bicycle
No wiser soul could know
For somehow it arrives each time
Before he’s said where to go
Verse 5
At Kelly’s, Ryan’s, Murphy’s too
The bicycle was seen
And soon became in County Cork
The best known bike, it seemed
The Father claimed each stop was made
For duties he’d pursue
While Old Mick swore the bicycle
Had parish business too
Verse 6
Old Mick produced a parish map
One evening in O’Shea’s
And marked each home the Father served
Along his weekly ways
The funny thing, as all could see
When measured through and through
Was every house lay just a stone’s throw
From where good porter flew
Chorus
Oh, Father Flynn’s bicycle
Has a mind all of its own
It knows each road in County Cork
And every stepping stone
Oh, Father Flynn’s bicycle
No wiser soul could know
For somehow it arrives each time
Before he’s said where to go
Verse 7
Now Father Flynn still rides that bike
Through sunshine, wind and rain
And swears he knows exactly where
He’s going once again
Old Mick just smiles and tips his cap
Whenever it rolls through
“For such a holy bicycle…
It knows the pubs well too.”
Lyrics Michael Forty
Voice Michael Forty