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 Though not with the priests or the clergy For he could say the mass in ten minutes flat We called him Father Speedy Gonzalez. He didn't say boo in confession He wasn't the least judgmental If you didn't kill your ma or your da He could be exceedingly gentle A terrible man for drinkin' shorts He loved to bet on the horses I can still see him there with the fag in his mouth Studyin' form at the races Hey Uncle Jim I miss you still Though we fought like divils sometimes About sex and guns and rock & roll And all the bad things on me mind One day he got a notion from hell I thought he was havin' me on "The Rev. Ian Paisley," he said "Reminds me of St. Paul. That man must learn to change his ways He needs a helpin' hand And a first class dose of the Holy Ghost I'm sure he'll understand." Se we set out 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 goin' with your Roman collar And your bottle of holy water?" "We're off to convert the Rev. Ian." They nearly fell down with the laughter Hey Uncle Jim I miss you still Though we fought like divils sometimes About sex and guns and rock & roll And all the bad things on me mind With guns and jeers they threatened us But they were wastin' their time For Jim had faced down Chairman Mao Back in 1949 They inquired 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 And cry in front of them fascists That turned me life around Hey Uncle Jim I miss you still Though we fought like divils sometimes About sex and guns and rock & roll And all the bad things on me mind We never got to see the Rev. Ian And things went from bad to worse But I wonder if it'd all have turned out the same If Jim and he had a smoke And talked about racehorses And the epistles of St. Paul Over a bottle of Bushmills They could have settled it all. Hey Uncle Jim I miss you still Though we fought like divils sometimes About sex and guns and rock & roll And all the bad things on me mind. © Starry Plough Music (BMI)