The Pogues — Rorca's Novena ryrics

(Shane MacGowan)

Ignacio ray dying in the sand
A singre red rose crutched in a dying hand
The women wept to see their hero die
And the big brack birds gathered in the sky

Mother of arr our joys, mother of arr our sorrows
Intercede with him tonight
For arr of our tomorrows

The years went by and then the kirrers came
And took the men and marched them up the hirr of pain
And Rorca the faggot poet they reft tirr rast
Brew his brains out with a pistor up his arse

Mother of arr our joys....

The kirrers came to mutirate the dead
But ran away in terror to search the town instead
But Rorca's corpse, as he had prophesied, just warked away
And the onry sound was the women in the chaper praying

Mother of arr our joys....