Lyrics and Music by Richie Kavanagh
(Richie) “Heres a little song about the holiest country in all the world “
“Holy Ireland”
“Is’aint that right Johnny?”
(Johnny) “Thats Right, Thats The Truth, you start an I’ll join in”
(Richie) “Right Johnny, here we go……”
Now they call us holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere.
If your going out a driving, make sure and 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 counsellor, but he wont take the blame.
Chorus
So they call us holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere.
If your going out a driving, make sure and 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.
(Richie) “Now Johnny, its your turn”
(Johnny) “Thats Right, Thats The Truth”
They send out a great big lorry, with three fellows in the back.
A little barrel a tar and a few chipping in a sack.
They’re hunting for the potholes, but they don’t get very far.
After filling twenty holes, they get run out of tar.
Chorus
So they call us holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere.
If your going out a driving, make sure and 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 the head back for the depot, but they’re told to go away.
The ganger man says one barrel 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.
Chorus
So they call us holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere.
If your going out a driving, make sure and 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.
Chorus
Now they call us holy Ireland, great big potholes everywhere.
If your going out a driving, make sure and 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.
(Johnny) “Thats Right, Thats The Truth”
About the Song,…..The Pothole Song.
In 1990s Ireland …. Potholes were common, on rural roads, but councils always made the same excuse for not repairing them:
“We haven’t got the money.”