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