The Pothole Song

Here's a little song about the holiest country in all the world Holy Ireland Is'ain't that right, Johnny? That's right, that's the truth, you start and I'll join in Right, Johnny, here we go Now they call us Holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere If you're going out a-driving, make sure to bring the spare Ah, me little back suspension goes bobbing up and down Even though I pay me road tax, they treat me like a clown There's big ones, there's little ones, there's some a duck could swim And if you hit a bad one, you'll soon be on the rim You can go and get your puncher fixed, there's no one from to claim You can ask your county counselor, but he won't take the blame So, they call us Holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere If you're going out a-driving, make sure to bring the spare Ah, me little back suspension goes bobbing up and down Even though I pay me road tax, they treat me like a clown Now, Johnny, it's your turn That's right, that's the truth They send out a great big lorry with three fellows in the back A little barrel, a tar, and a few chippings in the sack They're hunting for the potholes, but they don't get very far After filling twenty holes, they get run out of tar So, they call us Holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere If you're going out a-driving, make sure to bring the spare Ah, me little back suspension goes bobbing up and down Even though I pay me road tax, they treat me like a clown So they head back for the depot, but they're told to go away The hanger man says one barrel's supposed to last all day Now, I don't blame the council men, their back is to the wall I blame them fancy fellows sitting down there in the Dail So, they call us Holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere If you're going out a-driving, make sure to bring the spare Ah, me little back suspension goes bobbing up and down Even though I pay me road tax, they treat me like a clown Now, when there's an election, they'll come knocking at your door Says you, "I remember you, you were here before" You said ya'd fill the potholes, you treat me like a goat If you fill up the potholes, then I'll give you me vote So, they call us Holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere If you're going out a-driving, make sure to bring the spare Ah, me little back suspension goes bobbing up and down Even though I pay me road tax, they treat me like a clown Even though you pay your road tax, they treat you like a clown That's right, that's the truth