When the great bells of Shandon roll into the Lee

Oh Mary McGee, could you kindly explain
Why the Cork hurling saga is still causing pain?
Why are those great hurlers left out on the ditch
When they should be displaying their skills on the pitch?
Oh the men on the Board are still pulling the strings.
It’s always the same when it comes to these things.
Oh when will they sort it out, Mary McGee?
When the great bells of Shandon roll into the Lee.

The life of a hurler is governed by time –
It isn’t too long that they stay in their prime.
And those that were born to pull on the red shirt
Are splattered by old men who dig up the dirt.
The powers weave their webs; they’re the masters of spin,
While the players themselves stand outside looking in.
Oh when will the Board hear the common man’s plea?
When the great bells of Shandon roll into the Lee

Oh Mary, please tell me, I can’t understand
How this sad situation got so out of hand.
A curse upon those on the Cork County Board,
They had an agreement they roundly ignored.
They don’t know the meaning of honour or tact
And have dressed up their sly machinations as fact.
They should be all moth-balled but when will that be?
When the great bells of Shandon roll into the Lee.

The man to be found in the eye of the storm
Has brazened it out in the name of reform.
Why did he accept the position of coach
When he knew the whole squad would reject the approach?
Oh the dogs that inhabit the country and town
Are telling the world that he ought to step down.
But it doesn’t seem likely now, Mary McGee,
‘Less the great bells of Shandon roll into the Lee.