Paddy Flynn
Verse 1
Old Paddy Flynn drove tourists round
The Ring of Kerry roads
With one hand loosely on the wheel
And none upon the code
He’d smoke and talk and point at cliffs
While speeding through the rain
And swear to God no finer man
Had ever held the lane
He knew each corner blindfolded
Each pothole, rock and bend
Though half the souls aboard his bus
Thought this might be the end
Chorus
“Oh hold on tight now ladies and gents!
There’s a sharp bend just below
If the brakes give way don’t trouble yourselves —
Sure I’ve nowhere else to go!
To the left’s the finest view on Earth
To the right’s the mighty sea
And if you survive old Paddy Flynn
You’ll have stories home for free!”
Verse 2
He claimed he knew John Lennon once
And Elvis owed him cash
Said Churchill drank in Kerry pubs
And left without his sash
He pointed at a sheepdog farm
And whispered with a grin,
“That black-faced ram by yonder gate
Was raised by Michael Collins’ kin.”
The Germans stared in disbelief
Americans turned pale
While Paddy overtook a lorry
Round a corner without fail
Chorus
“Oh hold on tight now ladies and gents!
There’s fog upon the pass
And if you lean too far outside
You’ll kiss the mountain grass!
That cottage there belonged,” he said,
“To Ireland’s greatest queen…”
Though nobody could quite decide
Exactly what he means
Verse 3
Young Nora from Chicago town
Sat smiling near the front
While Paddy straightened up his cap
And softened down his grunt
He told her Kerry sunsets made
The stars themselves grow shy
Then nearly drove the bloody bus
Straight into Murphy’s sty
The priest aboard kept clutching beads
Two nuns began to pray
While Paddy sang old rebel songs
The whole wild windy way
Bridge
Now some men drive from A to B
And quietly earn their pay
But Paddy turned a simple road
Into a grand ballet
With danger, songs and nonsense mixed
Like whiskey into tea
And every mile felt half insane
Yet strangely full of glee
Final Chorus
So if you’re ever down in Kerry
And hear an old horn cry
Beware the grin of Paddy Flynn
And the twinkle in his eye
For legends aren’t in books alone
Or castles by the sea
Sometimes they drive a battered bus
Through Irish history
Michael Forty