Uncle Jim

My Uncle Jim was a hell of a man

He lived in the Philippine Islands

Came back home in '67

To convert us local savages

He was very popular in Wexford town

Well not with the priests or the clergy

For he could say the mass in ten minutes flat

They called him Father Speedy Gonzales

He didn't say bull in confession

He wasn't the least judgmental

If he didn't kill your ma or your da

He could be exceedingly gentle

A terrible man for drinking shorts

He loved to bet on the horses

I can still see him there with a fag in his mouth

Steady on form at the races

Hey Uncle Jim, I miss you still

Though we fought like devils sometimes

About sex and guns and rock and roll

And all the bad things on me mind

One day he got a notion from hell

I thought he was having me on

The Reverend Ian Paisley he said

Reminds me of St. Paul

That man must learn to change his ways

He needs a helping hand

And a first class dose of the Holy Ghost

I'm sure he'll understand

So we set off for Belfast Town

The priest and a slip of a boy

We were just a mile from Portadown

When the Specials pulled us over

Where are you going with your Roman collar?

Your bottle of holy water?

We're off to convert the Reverend Ian

They nearly fell down with the laughter

Hey Uncle Jim, I miss you still

Though we fought like devils sometimes

About sex and guns and rock and roll

And all the bad things on me mind

With guns and jeers they threatened us

But they were wasting their time

For Jim had faced An Tuirimid back in 1949

They enquired about our relationship

And the sexual drives of the Pope

I wanted to cry at the sight of their guns

For I had given up hope

Me uncle stared at the Orangemen

He didn't give a damn

If they strung him up in Portadown

He was that kind of a man

I swore to God in heaven

I wouldn't let him down

I'd cry in front of them fascists

And I'd turn me life around

Hey Uncle Jim, I miss you still

Though we fought like devils sometimes

About sex and guns and rock and roll

And all the bad things on me mind

We never got to see the Reverend Ian

And things went from bad to worse

But I wonder if it all had turned out the same

If Father Jim and he had a smoke

And talked about racehorses

And the epistles of St. Paul

Over a bottle of Bushmills

That could have settled it all

Hey Uncle Jim, I miss you still

Though we fought like devils sometimes

About sex and guns and rock and roll

And all the bad things on me mind