Written and recorded by Christy Moore.

[D]A boat sailed out of Brandon, in the[G] year of nine-o-one
[D]Twas a damp and dirty morning, [A]Brendan’s voyage had begun
[D]Tired of tinnin’ turnips and [G]cuttin’ curly-kale
[D]When he got back from the creamery, he [A]hoisted up his [D]sail

He made the lonely furlong, to the north, south, east and west
Of all the navigators, St. Brendan was the best
When he got low on candles, he was forced to make a stop
He tied up in Long Island, put America on the map

Did you know that Honolulu was found by a Kerry man
Who went on to find Australia, then China and Japan
When he was reaching seventy he began to miss the crack
And turnin’ to his albatross, sez he, “I’m headin’ back.”

[G]Is it right or left to Gi[D]braltar, [A]what tack do I take for[D] Mizen Head
[G]I’d loved to settle down be Ventry [D]Harbor, St. [D]Brendan to his al[A]batross he [D]said

To make it fast, he bent the mast and built up mighty steam
Round Terra del Fuego and up the warm gulf stream
He crossed the last horizon, Mt. Brandon was in sight
When he cleared the customs, into Dingle for the night

When he got to Cordon Bleu, he went to douse the draught
He headin’ West to Kruger’s to murder pints of stout
Around be Ballyferriter and up the Conor Pass
He free wheeled into Brandon, the Saint was home at last

The entire population came the place was chocker block
Oh, love nor money couldn’t get your nose inside the shop
The fishermen hauled up their nets, the farmers left their hay
For the Kerry people know that Saints don’t turn up every day

Is it right or left to Gibraltar, what tack do I take for Mizen Head
I’d loved to settle down be Ventry Harbor, St. Brendan to his albatross he said

Everything was goin’ grand till Brendan did announce
His reason for returning, was to try and set up house
The girl were flabbergasted at St. Brendan’s neck
To seek a wife so late in life and him a total wreck

Wore down by rejection, this pierced his humble pride
By God, sez Brendan, “if I run, I’ll surely catch the tide.”
Turn’s in his sandals, he made straight for the dock
And haulin’ up the anchor he cast off from the rocks

As he sailed passed Innishvickallaune there stood the albatross
“I knew you’d never stick it out, ’tis great to see you boss.”
“I’m bailin’ out,” sez Brendan, “I badly need a break,”
A fortnight is about as much as any aul’ Saint could take.”

Is it right or left to Gibraltar, what tack do I take for Mizen Head
I’d loved to settle down be Ventry Harbor, St. Brendan to his albatross he said

* – Kruger Kavanagh’s, the ‘Nearest pub to the States’