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¶¶ [vocalizing]
[girl giggling]
That's it.
The heavyweight champion of the world, Muhammad Ali,
who used to be Cassius Clay,
against the big, ugly Sonny Liston.
[shouts]
Ha!
Did he win?
She did! Our own little Muhammad Ali
is the new heavyweight champion of the world!
[laughs]
One-two! One-two! A-one!
Let ye get out of it.
One-two! One-two!
Duck! One-two! Watch out for Sonny Liston.
Faster! One-two. One-two.
And duck! One-two. One-two.
Sonny's coming for ya. Punch Granny.
Now would you leave the lackeen down, son?
Francis, would ya get down, ya devil!
Who's the greatest? Francis, who is the greatest?
Look at me, Mammy! I am the greatest!
Aren't I the greatest, Mammy?
'Course you are,
sure aren't you your mammy's daughter.
And you're the greatest, too, Patrick. That right, son?
One-two. One. Huh, Patrick? One-two.
Would ya leave the boy alone, Michael?
Get us a sup of tea. This baby's awful thirsty.
And, ah, what will you give me?
Give him a song! That'll do him!
Yeah, sing. Mammy'll sing. Watch.
And I'll play me banjo.
[giggling]
Watch.
[imitating banjo]
- Michael. - Don't mind the tae.
Wet your throat with that. It'll do ya good.
[imitating banjo]
Do ya want me to sing or not?
Come on, Mammy.
Come on, Francis. Sit down. Come on.
What do yiz want?
Ah, me favorite.
Shh! Whisht you!
¶ Oh, we are the travelling people ¶
¶ Like the Picts or Beaker Folk ¶
¶ The men in Whitehall think we're parasites ¶
¶ But tinker is a word ¶
¶ And with your gum, shellac, shalay, shala ¶
¶ Move us on, ya boyoes ¶
¶ Well, I have a little woman ¶
¶ And a mother she is to be ¶
¶ She gets her basket on her arm ¶
¶ And she mooches the hills for me ¶
¶ And with your gum, shellac, shalay, shala ¶
¶ Wallop it out, ya boyoes ¶
¶ Well, we've been married twenty year ¶
¶ And nineteen children we have got ¶
¶ Ah, sure when one is hardly walking ¶
¶ The other is in the cot ¶
¶ And with your gum, shellac, shalay, shala ¶
¶ Move us on, ya boyoes ¶
That's a nice bit of singing, in fairness.
Don't let us stop ye.
Sorry, Sergeant. Show's over.
Is there anything else ye came for,
other then a bit of a sing-song?
That child should be in school,
not running around like a wild savage.
You stop it, Francis.
They're the cruelty men that take the bold children away.
Don't mind him daughter.
He has an inny in the toe.
What did you say?
Today's a holy day, Sergeant. There's no school on a holy day.
What fucking holy day?
The day Muhammad Ali punched a hole in Sonny Liston.
That fucking holy day.
Tell your son to mind his manners, Mr. Joyce.
Show some respect for his betters.
Pipe down, son. We don't want no trouble now.
Come here to me, young madam.
Now...
tell me, do you go to school?
She's only young yet, Sergeant. Younger then she looks.
What age are you?
- Nine. - Six.
She was six, Sergeant.
And one day, please God, she'll be nine.
If I gave you four apples and took away two,
how many would you have left?
- Oh! - Sweet Jesus.
Hold it, hold it, son.
Leave my lackeen alone! Take your hands off her!
Stay back!
Get off me, ya fucking bitch!
[groans]
Hold it!
[yelps]
Stop, son! You'll only make things worse!
Mammy! Mammy.
Francis, you're Mammy's little champion, aren't ya?
- Get up, Mammy! - Calm down, ye!
- Ye'll kill the man! - Go back inside, Patrick!
Get out of my fucking way!
Hold him! Hold the fucking knacker!
You don't let anybody knock ya down, Francis.
Keep your head up.
- Margaret! - Get up!
Daddy, help!
Get up! Come on! Get up, ya fucking knacker!
- [bones crack] - Ohh!
Mammy, get up!
Margaret!
Daddy!
Francis!
Daddy!
[screams]
Behind ya, Eamonn! It's your father!
Hurry!
Where do your think you're going?
I asked you a question.
It was Eamonn started it, Dada.
The tinkers weren't doing anything.
Only getting periwinkles.
Get up to the car, you. Now!
Apologize to my son for assaulting him.
Apologize!
Do you want to see your father rot in jail?
Say sorry, Francis.
Right. It's off to the fucking workhouse with the pair of ye.
They'll beat the badness out of ye.
I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry, Sergeant."
I'm sorry, Sergeant.
27, 28, 29...
30, 31, 32...
[chatter continues]
What happened to ya, Francis?
Is that all the winkles ya got, Patrick?
What were ya up to, Francis? Stay here.
Francis! Francis!
Your granny is talking to you, Francis!
'Tis worse that one is getting.
Get them wet things off ya, Patrick,
before ya catch your death.
Did ya fall in?
They pushed us.
Don't be petting.
Don't be acting like a girl.
[grunting]
[coughing]
Francis!
MOTHER: Mammy's little champion.
You don't let anybody knock ya down, Francis.
I won't tell ya again, Francis!
[bell rings]
Punch!
Faster! One-two!
I speak out for what I believe,
like you've got people in Ireland
fighting for what they believe.
Good man, Ali! Come on over to Ireland,
put manners on the lot of them white divils.
White divils! Do ya hear him?
Sure, aren't ya a white divil yourself?
We might look white on the outside,
but inside the travelling people is the blacks of Ireland.
Never has a slave got up and said,
"I am the greatest. I cannot lose."
Oi, did ya hear the news, Big Daddy?
Ah, would ya whisht!
What news? Step in by the fire
and don't be standing there like a sergeant with a summons.
[laughs]
Who you you like to see by the fire
this time tomorrow, Patrick?
- Elvis Presley. - Huh?
I know. Muhammad Ali.
Elvis Presley and Muhammad Ali?
Did ya hear them?
You're nothing but traitors!
Now what would your daddy say?
Their daddy?
That's right, sister, your Michael.
What about our Michael? Out of jail?
[coughing]
Haven't he a year to go? The judge said--
They must've needed a cell quickly.
This time tomorrow, your daddy's going to be a free man.
But he won't know me. Sure he won't.
Of course he will.
Your daddy never forgot his little man
or his little woman!
You're going to have to behave yourself, Francis,
because it won't be easy on your daddy
with your mammy gone.
And your going to have to look after him
until he gets his feet under him, do ya hear me?
Isn't that right, Big Daddy?
Your daddy won't be long, putting manners on ye!
Isn't that right, Muhammad Ali?
Yeah, Muhammad Ali, she says!
And like I'm not only winning boxing.
I'ma win also in the movement that I follow for my people.
Ow!
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
Thought it was a ghost.
You're the walking shadow of your mammy,
Lord have mercy on her.
Who's that? Francis? That's never our Francis!
I don't believe ya! You're codding me!
Come here till I see the little changeling.
Show me your muscles.
Ah, that-a-girl. Now I knows ya.
Stop that!
Your daddy will chop of your fingers with a carving knife
and throw them in there with the crubeens.
- He wouldn't do that to us. - Oh, sure he would.
He'd chop up the pair of us and eat us for breakfast.
You know the one mistake I ever made, Francis?
I should have skinned that snake whilst I had the chance.
- The sergeant? - You whisht, you!
With that foolish talk. Don't mind him, Francis.
That's the whiskey talking.
Better to die on your feet
than live all your life on your knees.
Am I right or am I wrong, Francis?
You're right, Granddad.
He'd be six foot under if it was up to me.
[laughing]
Right. Bed with ye.
Ah, but it's only early yet.
Will ye go on? No back answering.
Jesus.
Don't destroy it.
One-two, Francis. One-two!
We are the greatest. [chuckles]
We said it before we knew we was.
[distant singing]
¶ Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile ¶
¶ Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh ¶
¶ Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile ¶
¶ Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh ¶
¶ Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile ¶
Oi, out, out!
¶ Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh ¶
¶ Óró, sé do ¶
What the hell was that?
Whisht, will you? Women and children are asleep!
Oh! Oh, ah, fuck. Ah, bollocks!
Go easy, lads. Don't break the place up.
Francis, where are ya? 'Tis I have a surprise for ya.
Ah, Jesus Christ. Oh, Mother.
Get off the man, will ya?
Get off me!
[laughter]
¶ Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile ¶
Margaret?
That you, Margaret?
You smell like apples.
Did you eat a load of big red apples while I was away?
[crying]
[crying continues]
Don't be talking nonsense, son.
Your Margaret is dead and buried.
You know that.
Go inside, Francis.
Don't be gawking at your daddy. Go on!
Will you help me get him inside, lads?
[loud chatter]
[laughter]
See? There. In the brown suit.
That's our daddy.
Daddy! Here he is.
'Tis your son.
He's a free man at last.
Huh. They didn't starve you anyways.
No wonder you was in no hurry to get out.
That's right. I was having the time of me life.
[laughing]
Locked in a cage you wouldn't put a dog in.
Here, son.
Eat something and line the stomach.
Ha! Line the stomach with that!
[laughing]
Francis, give your daddy a kiss. Go on.
Francis.
You're after getting big.
She was a good girl.
She behaved herself lovely while ye were gone.
She only beat a dozen or so heads.
[laughter]
Show your daddy your muscles.
Look at that.
That's more than you had at her age.
That's dangerous!
You has to be finding her a husband quick, I'd say.
Is that the way, huh? Christ.
Want your daddy to get you a husband?
I'd rather you brought me to see Muhammad Ali.
[laughter]
You know he's fighting Blue Al in Dublin.
Will you bring me?
Do! Take her off to Dublin
and throw her in the ring with himself.
She'll give Ali a run for his money, so she will.
Will you leave the man alone, and he only landed.
You're still your daddy's girl, aren't ya, Francis?
Good girl.
Where's my little man? Let me look at him.
Come here to me.
What's that muck on your face?
It's Smarties.
[chuckling]
He was eating Smarties.
Smarties?
From Rice Krispie buns &
[chuckling]
[laughing]
Ya clown, ya!
[laughter]
Here, give him a guzzle of that.
He's been too long on his granny's lap.
Drink this up, son.
Drink it up.
Go on, go on. [laughing]
Sweet Jesus! He'll kill the child.
He's fine. He's spilling more than he's swallowing.
- [gags] - [laughing]
My son and heir, Patrick Joyce.
- [belches] - [laughter]
[vomiting]
[spits]
Finished?
Come on with me. Come on.
Into the sea with ya. Go on.
Keep scrubbing.
[humming]
What are you gawking at?
Nothing.
I was just seeing if you like... like butter.
[chuckles]
Do I like butter? Christ.
Will you pass me my fags?
They're in the jacket pocket.
[coughs]
You weren't lonesome for me at all, I suppose.
Hurry up, Francis! You'll be late for school.
School? You're not going to no school today.
Nor tomorrow neither.
It's not every day your daddy comes home from jail.
But Nana says that I--
Nana's not the boss of you anymore.
I am.
¶ All those who died for liberty ¶
¶ Have died but for a dream ¶
¶ So then rise ¶
¶ Rise ¶
Go on, Mama. Go on!
You never lost it, Mammy.
I haven't the same wind I used to.
She has so.
I shared a bed with her last night.
She had no shortage of wind then.
You behave yourself, you.
[laughter]
Francis, give us a song.
Quick, before your granddad digs his own grave.
No. I don't know no songs.
Ah, you do.
Sing the one your mammy used to sing ya.
She has her mother's gift, son.
Her mother's gift is right.
And the temper of a red devil. [chuckling]
- The banjo, huh? - No.
- Come on, Michael. - No, no, no, no.
- "P for Paddy." - Come on.
¶¶
¶ P stands for Paddy, I suppose ¶
¶ J for my love ¶
[dogs barking]
[siren approaching]
[soft chatter]
[car doors close]
[whistles]
Papers.
Sign that.
What's wrong with ya?
Can't you sign your own name?
[laughter]
Make an X.
Can you manage an X?
[laughter continues]
We'll see you next week.
Ooh!
[laughs]
[car door closes]
[distant laughter]
[car drives off]
That's hers.
[laughter]
[yelling]
Come on. Come on!
Hit me.
All right, come on.
One-two. One-two.
[barking]
[horse neighs]
Mike, come on.
Can I come too?
How many times you have to be told, Francis?
Why can't I not?
Because!
Please, Daddy.
Daddy?
We right?
You're useless.
What did you say?
- What did you say? - Nothing. She said nothing.
Right? She just wants to be with her daddy, that's all.
Oh!
Good enough for you?
- Feed her for me there. - [baby crying]
Make sure she finishes it all.
If she had one of her own,
that would keep her out of mischief.
She has plenty of time yet.
Plenty of time for what, causing trouble?
Pow. Pow-pow.
Whoo!
[barks]
Francis, nip to the shop.
Get us a sup of milk and twenty Woodbines for your father.
Quick, before he wakes.
Get your filthy paws out of my sweets!
How many of them do you want?
Are you deaf or stupid? How many do you want?
Get out. Get out, ya filthy thing!
This girl was just on top of him,
going up and down, up and down.
They stayed nonstop.
Watch where you're going, knacker!
The tinkers are out robbing the place! Lock it up!
Leave it.
Leave it, I said!
Go on, ya smelly tinker.
Smell her, lads!
Fucking waste!
Rotten one.
Grab hold of the thing. It wont bite you.
Aah! Feels funny.
You try again.
Sit!
Hold it.
I'll do it.
Like this.
Ugh!
Like that.
Go away and wash yourself.
Bang, bang, bang.
There's only one thing would cure a temper like that.
A match.
[horse whinnies]
What's going on?
Nana?
Hey, how do you likes your new home?
That's Uncle Tommy's.
She needs the outing, Francis.
If she doesn't, she'll only get rusty.
Pack up your things, Francis.
We're going on the road.
Are you not coming too, Granddad?
Eh, we're too old for that racket.
So only me and Patrick's going then?
- Yup. - No.
You can't just tear 'em out of school.
We'll have social workers down on top of us,
threatening to take 'em away from us.
Childer nowadays has to get their education.
They'll get their education on the road, same as ourselves.
Daddy's right, Nana.
School's no good. They don't teach us nothing.
Only makes us sit in the back of the class
and color in stupid pictures of their old houses.
What about your parole?
Haven't you to be here to show the sergeant your papers?
Every week, they said.
Hell with them and their papers.
You a free man or not, son?
Give me that.
Light that, you.
No flesh and blood of mine is going to no school
what only learns 'em how to roll over and play dead.
Here now. Let that keep you safe.
Bend down to me here, Patrick.
Here, son. [chuckles]
You're nearly as handsome as meself.
Be a good gossom, Patrick. Do ya hear me? Good gossom.
Go on now. Be a good girl, Francis.
Look after your daddy.
And don't be giving him a hard time, do ya hear?
[clicks tongue] Hup.
[cheering]
¶ I was born on the road on the way to Puck Fair ¶
¶ Tumbled out quick with me fine head of hair ¶
¶ Me daddy fed me buttered spuds ¶
¶ Mammy fed me stout ¶
¶ And offs we fecks to the fair to parade me all about ¶
¶ But what did we see when we gets to Killorglin ¶
¶ But an old billy goat ¶
¶ And he blowin' his mouth organ ¶
¶ All eyes was on King Billy ¶
¶ Not one did light on me ¶
¶ They were bowing and a-scraping ¶
¶ And saluting his old fleas ¶
¶ So up I leaps like lighting ¶
¶ And I grab King Billy's crown ¶
¶ And I crawls upon his golden throne ¶
¶ And I sits me royal ass down ¶
¶ Says I to all and sundry ¶
¶ Are ye blind drunk on Poitín ¶
¶ 'Tis I was born this very morn ¶
¶ To be your rightful queen ¶
¶ Poor Billy didn't like it ¶
¶ Didn't he puck me with his horns ¶
¶ But if he did, I grabbed his shmig ¶
¶ And I boxed him till he mourned ¶
¶ Well, out popped every eye ¶
¶ Every gob did spill a tongue ¶
¶ To see a one so bold and fierce ¶
¶ And she only one day young ¶
Whoa, Buttercup.
Now... which way?
Now you decide, Buttercup, huh?
There's no wrong way when you're going the right road.
This is the life, huh?
Right.
¶ I'm not blowing me own trumpet ¶
¶ Well, the truth, it is well-known ¶
¶ And if you don't believe me ¶
¶ Well, feck off and póg me thóin ¶
¶ Every year that ever is ¶
¶ In a well-known Irish town ¶
¶ People from all corners come to give this queen her crown ¶
[horse neighs]
¶¶
[baby crying]
[crying continues]
You shouldn't be smoking around the paraffin.
- It could go up on you. - Could it now?
How did I ever manage to survive before you came along?
Is that your daddy?
He's not the ugliest man in the world.
¶¶
Is he good to ya?
He is the greatest.
It must be lonesome without your mammy.
And where's your own husband? Is he gone off on ya?
He is. Gone off to heaven for himself.
¶¶ [festive]
So how much?
By years, we go. He's five years old.
We'll say five.
Would you be interested in buying him?
I think we could do business, all right. How much?
I'd want to get thirty quid for this animal.
Michael Joyce, the slayer of sergeants!
What hole in the ground did you crawl out of?
He don't recognize me without me teeth.
Pa Quinn. Your mother's people and mine go way back.
We go way back.
I remember you when you were that size.
You would run under the Shetland there
and come out the far side without bending your knees.
- Is that a fact? - 'Tis indeed.
And who is this grand-looking lackeen here?
My eldest, Francis, and my son, Patrick.
Ah, the orphans. God love 'em.
I bet you came to the fair looking for a husband, huh?
I'm not looking for no husbands.
All I wants to know is which road leads to Dublin.
To Dublin. What would a slip of a girl like you
be doing in that place?
I'll go see Muhammad Ali knock the head off Blue Al,
maybe pick up a trick or two.
- [chuckling] - Behave yourself, Francis.
Pajo. Pajo!
Go find me grandson there. Tell him he's wanted.
Pajo!
Maybe pick up a trick or two, she says.
You're some card.
Here, go get yourself a drop of lemonade.
And no baiting heads, no mind you.
[laughing]
Hey, look what I got.
Come on, let's go.
I think I have the right fellow for that one.
He'll knock the sparks out of her.
Come here to me, young man.
How would you like to get your picture taken
with the greatest fighter this world has ever seen?
Is that really him?
Sure, of course it is.
Don't you recognize the champion of the world when you see him?
Have you a shilling for me, and you can give him a box.
- You do it, Francis. - Do what?
Miss, can my sister give him a box?
If she has a shilling for me, she can do what she likes.
Right. Up you pop.
Hiya.
That's not Muhammad Ali.
Right, look at me. Look at the camera.
[camera clicks]
Ugh!
You're not Muhammad Ali!
You stop making a fucking show of yourself.
Sir, me gloves.
How much do you want for them?
Ten shillings to you, since you're so handsome.
From now on, your brother does the fighting, do you hear me?
¶¶
- Can we have money for chips? - Whisht!
Ah, hard luck, man, hard luck.
Go again.
Patrick's starving.
- Not that one, Daddy. - Shh!
Ah, Jesus.
Have we no money left?
We do. We've buckets of it.
Anyway, what's the use in having money
if you don't know how to spend it?
True for ya. And when you get married,
your husband will give ya a few bob if you behaves yourself.
- He's here! - [cheering]
Pajo, you scoundrel.
You're like Houdini escaping from me.
Me grandson, Patrick Joseph Quinn II.
And this is Michael Joyce,
the man that as good as murdered a sergeant.
I didn't tell ya a word of a lie.
You'll get a great army of sons out of that one.
Stand up straight, Francis. Let him have a good look at ya
Up.
Well? What's the verdict?
Yeah.
Yeah, what? Will she do you or not?
She's all right.
She's better than "all right", Pajo.
My Francis could have the pick of any man.
Right enough. There's no one saying any different.
But there's not many young fellas going around
on the finest stallion in the whole of Ireland.
And he has a field of fine mares and foals as well, besides.
Well, what you think yourself, Francis?
Do you likes the look of him?
- His hair. - What about it?
- It's stupid. - [laughter]
She don't like your hair, Pajo.
Would he be acceptable if he covered his head
in a little cap maybe?
Well, I don't like your hair neither.
Looks like this fella's tail.
- Yeah, well, I don't care. - I don't care more.
Would ya listen to them, fighting like newlyweds already.
Has we a match?
- Good on ya. - [applause]
¶ I was 14 years last Sunday, Mama ¶
¶ I am longing for to be wed ¶
¶ In the arms of some young man ¶
¶ Who would comfort me in the bed ¶
¶ In the arms of some young man ¶
¶ Who'd roll with me all night ¶
¶ I'm young and I'm airy ¶
¶ I'm cracked ¶
- ¶ I'm contrary ¶ - [laughter]
¶ And buckled I'd long to be ¶
[cheering]
There!
That'll keep her in line for ya.
[laughter]
- [Michael laughing] - [woman shushing]
Francis?
Patrick, you awake?
[soft moaning]
[banjo twangs]
Shh! The children.
Shh. They're fine.
They're grand. They're fast asleep.
Christ, you're saucy.
[woman giggles]
[moaning]
MICHAEL: Ohh...
WOMAN: Ah, Jesus. MICHAEL: Uh, sorry.
[thumping]
What the hell is that for?
For the children.
- Go to hell, yeah? - Huh?
Was your mother a redhead like yourself?
What's it to you?
A woman with red hair came to me in a dream last night.
- She was say-- - [footsteps approaching]
Patrick, hurry on. Do you want to be left behind?
What was that one saying to ya?
Was it about me?
She said Mammy's up in heaven watching over us.
And she don't miss a thing.
Hup.
Hup, Buttercup.
Hup, hup!
¶ Warm winds settle ¶
¶ And all I see in this crimson glow is you ¶
¶ Dawn lights crackle ¶
¶ Dusk does too ¶
¶ Soon comes battle ¶
¶ As we're longing for a truth that is not true ¶
¶ Fond am I ¶
¶ Of the days I spent watching butterflies ¶
¶ And dancing in the firelight ¶
¶ And though there's a teardrop ¶
¶ That's fallen from my eye ¶
¶ The good old butterfly ¶
¶ Will teach me to be satisfied ¶
¶ Because this ever-changing love must pass us by ¶
You don't have to marry that fella if you don't want to.
Only if you likes him.
Do you likes him?
And there's no rush neither.
Your mammy took her time marrying me.
She kept we waiting, so she did.
Why did you give him me gloves?
Huh?
Me boxing gloves.
Ah, is that it?
Yeah.
There's a farm about a mile back.
Go up and ask them for a few spuds.
Can we not just get some messages
when we're back on the road again or something?
With what? And get some tobacco too.
Tell 'em I'll mend any bit of tin they have in the morning.
There's no mending in the tin no more.
They all have plastic now.
And who died and made you so fucking smart?
Come on.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa!
What do you want?
H-Have you got a few spuds to spare?
Have you no parents to feed you?
Come on, son.
Will ye come on, will ye?
You stay there.
There you are.
Still warm from nanny's titty.
Now, what else are ya after?
A few spuds?
[distant bleating]
Is that enough?
Can you spare a few of them?
[chuckles] You're not shy.
[strikes match]
Sssss...
Wait. Have you got a little something for me?
An old kiss maybe?
- [thud] - Oww!
Ugh!
Come on, Patrick, let's go.
Can I get in with you?
Daddy?
Will you sing me the song that Mammy used to sing?
Huh?
The one about the fairies.
[humming]
That one?
Yeah.
That's the one.
¶ Seoithin seotho ¶
¶ My child is my treasure ¶
¶ My jewel, my solace ¶
¶ My share of the world ¶
¶ Seoithin seotho ¶
¶ How sweet is my pleasure ¶
¶ My dark flag of sorrow ¶
¶ Forever unfurled ¶
Um...
¶ Child of my bosom ¶
¶ May sleep ever and thrive with you ¶
¶ Come toddle with me ¶
¶ For the day shall come maybe ¶
¶ Lonely you'll wander ¶
¶ For mile after mile ¶
¶ Seoithin seotho ¶
¶ How sweet is my treasure ¶
[distant owl hooting]
[whines]
[knocking]
God bless ye and save ye. What can I do for ye?
She likes my turnips.
What?
I had an army of men lined up
to pick turnips tomorrow morning.
but your horse got there first.
I'm very sorry, mister. She's that old.
She don't eat much usually, only a pick of grass.
She must have saved her appetite so,
for his turnips.
[laughing]
We don't wants no trouble now.
We're only pulled in for the one night only.
A royal we, is it?
Or is there an infestation of ye in it?
No, no infestation. Only meself and me family.
Only see, there's a pair on the rampage tonight,
robbing and assaulting ordinary, decent people.
But you wouldn't know anything about that, I suppose.
I wouldn't, mister. That's disgraceful behavior.
Well, isn't it just.
Look, my wife's people is settled in Limerick.
We was heading there tonight,
only the poor horse got sore in the hooves.
They're in there, the pair! I saw them!
Fuck off the lot of ya anyways. It's a free county,
and we'll park where we fucking well want to.
Whisht!
- [horse nickers] - [dog barks]
[horse whinnies]
Are they gone, Daddy?
They are.
- [horse neighs] - [gunshot]
[dog whines, barks]
[gunshot]
[whimpering]
You stay down.
Pack up your bits, quick.
Me pup!
Let's go.
Did they kill Lucky?
Get you a new pup, Patrick, I promise.
Just get these on.
¶ Blianta fada ó shoin ¶
¶ In ó ghasúr ¶
¶ Bhí an saol an-tsimplí ¶
¶ Le spraoi is gan imní, bhí sé deas ¶
Wait there, will ya?
There's a fella here owes me.
Who is he?
Not someone you'd want to know.
[birds chirping]
Ow!
Will ya stop?
I'm trying to make you look respectable.
Go on. Say a prayer to Mammy so she'll look after us.
Why does she always look so sad?
She's sad because she got driven out.
Same as us.
[horn honking]
[honking]
Get in quick before she cuts out on me.
Come on, come on.
How does you likes our new wagon, huh?
Did your daddy do right ye, huh?
Ya did, Daddy.
Look. There's even eggs.
See? There ya go.
- [laughing] - What more could you want?
[engine sputtering]
Come on.
[starter failing]
Fuck ya!
[Patrick laughing]
What are you laughing at?
[continues laughing]
Look, Daddy.
One of the eggs must've hatched.
- [peeping] - [laughing]
Fucking great.
That's the answer to all our troubles now.
A fucking chicken.
[laughing]
Stop laughing, will ya?
[continues laughing]
What'd I fucking tell you?
[laughing]
Stop laughing, Patrick.
[peeping continues]
Are you gonna sit there now
and let your sister make a woman out of ya?
I didn't.
I was, I was--
Hit her.
Every time you don't hit your sister, I'm gonna hit ya.
And I'm going to keep on hitting you
until ya learns to act like a man.
[peeping continues]
Just hit me, Patrick.
I don't mind.
Again.
Harder!
He has to learn.
Can't be hiding behind his sister all his life.
[peeping continues]
[peeping]
WOMAN: Bobby Sheridan? In Limerick, is it?
Yeah.
Your Uncle Bobby is in the phonebook, isn't he, Francis?
'Cause of the weddings and that?
Yeah, he does a bit of singing at the weddings.
He's well known for it.
¶ We're the travelling people ¶
¶ Like the Picts or Beaker Folk ¶
¶ The men in Whitehall thinks we're parasites ¶
¶ But tinker is the word ¶
¶ With your gum shellac, shalay, shala ¶
¶ Move us on, ya boyoes ¶
Now we'll see if we can get ye back on the road.
I can do that.
Where'd you learn that trick?
Uncle Joe showed it to me.
One time when the Legion of Mary was inside
saying rosary with Nana,
we was outside sucking petrol out of their car.
Don't-- Don't be making up stories, Francis.
Can I go with you in your car, Uncle Bobby?
You can, of course.
Yeah, can I come too?
Sure. We're all going the same road.
Now. Home sweet home.
You live in a house?
I do.
Don't hold that against me.
Thanks.
Lemonade's cold, Francis. Feel it.
That's 'cause it was in the fridge.
What's a fridge?
I'll show ya.
You done well for yourself, Bobby.
Fair play to ya.
Ah, sure. 'Tis four walls.
No boys, now?
No men to carry the name?
No, no, not yet.
Maybe this one.
Ah, hard luck. Hard luck, man.
A hot drop?
Hot drop is right.
You've nothing stronger, no?
Nothing with a bit of lead in it?
Go down, Irene, and get a few bottles of, uh...
stout, is it?
Sure, whatever you're having yourself.
See that?
Haven't touched a drop in, uh...
- What is it now, Irene? - Since your sister.
Oh, that was it.
I went a bit mad after our Margaret passed.
But herself sorted me out.
Me family or me drink, she says. Take your pick.
That a fact? You're not from travelling people then?
Don't you know well I'm not.
Irene's family was always very good to our people.
There was always a welcome at your father's door.
Power's Whiskey is my poison.
Take the wallet and get yourself something too.
A little Babycham maybe. You likes your Babycham?
I'll get that. Don't insult me.
- Can I come with you, Mammy? - You stay, Roseanne.
Go and show your cousin where she'll be sleeping.
Oh, no, sure we've a hotel sorted for the night.
What hotel?
The whatsis. The...
big swanky place down the...
Sure, didn't you see me lay down the money for it?
Dinner, whatever we want, It's all-in.
Don't mind your hotel.
I'll not have me own flesh and blood go to strangers'.
Roseanne, bring your cousin upstairs
and get her something nice and clean to wear.
That's nice on you.
You can keep it if you like it. I have loads.
Yeah, so do I.
Are those your cousins out there?
Who?
The, uh...
young ones down the road.
No. They hate us. They call us knackers.
That's 'cause you are one.
No, I'm not.
Yes, you are.
If I am one, so are you. Twice over.
So?
I'm the greatest.
And I said it before I knew I was.
That's what Muhammad Ali says.
Wait till you hear this.
¶ Well, I have a little woman ¶
- ¶ And a mother she is to be ¶ - Who's that?
That's your Mammy. Finest voice in all of Ireland.
¶ She takes her basket on her arm ¶
¶ And she mooches the hills for me ¶
¶ And with your gum shellac, shalay, shalo ¶
¶ Wallop it on, ya boyoes ¶
¶ Well, we've been married twenty year ¶
¶ And nineteen children we have got ¶
¶ Ah, sure when one is hardly walking ¶
¶ The other is-- ¶
Your mammy and me used to sing that at all the fairs
when we was your age, younger even.
She'd do most of the singing. I'd just rattle--
No offense, Bobby.
But no matter what shades of gold ya paint it,
a cage is still a fucking cage, isn't it?
[chick peeping]
[peeping continues]
Now, what make of birdy is that?
Tit, is it?
[chuckling]
Stick on some more tea, Irene.
We could all do with a fresh drop.
Put it on yourself.
Fuck me. I've heard it all now.
"Put it on yourself," she said.
Top that you, good woman.
He's had enough.
What did you say?
Don't you dare talk to your father like that.
No, see, she gets the bad blood from yer side, so she does.
- What? - No matter.
She'll be getting married soon.
Her husband will beat it out of her.
If he hits me, I'll hit him back harder.
[giggles]
I will. I'll knock his fecking--
[phone ringing]
[ring]
Hello?
Yeah, this is him you're talking to.
Who?
Oh.
No, I have not seen the man.
No, not for ten years or more.
Will do, Sergeant.
What did that bastard want?
He said if you're not back by tomorrow,
there'll be a warrant for your arrest.
How does he even know they're here?
[chuckling]
Michael Joyce goes where he wants to go.
And if and when I decide to go back,
I'll put manners on him.
I'll put manners on that son of his too.
Shut up, you. Put manners on yourself.
Patrick, come here to me, son.
Come on, come here!
[chick peeping]
Come on!
Now tell that bastard
you'll knock seven shades of shite
out of his jumped-up monkey of a son.
Open up your beak.
Tell him!
There's no one there.
[peeping continues]
I'll fight the son, Daddy.
I'm strong enough anyways.
When are you gonna fucking learn, huh?
When?
Easy now. Everybody calm down now.
This will all look different in the morning.
- [punch] - Jesus!
Run next door, Roseanne!
Tell them to call the guards.
Go and do as you're told, Roseanne!
I'm sorry. I am. I didn't mean--
[door closes]
Get out of my house! Get out, the lot of ye!
- Savages! - [peeping]
¶¶ [vocalizing]
[clatter]
[distant dog barking]
Sweet suffering Jesus, you put the heart across me.
Where's Francis?
Michael, where is the misfortunate lackeen?
Son!
Talk to me, son.
[grunts]
Mammy!
Get up!
Get up outta that grave!
God forgive me for rearing a son
that would abandon his own flesh and blood!
What do you see?
What is it, Mammy?
Nothing.
I see nothing anymore.
Mister?
What's wrong with you, creature?
Are you lost or something?
- [neighs] - There it is.
That's where she's sore.
I know, darling, I know.
Pajo!
[horse whinnies]
She's off to Dublin, she says. To see himself.
You won't find Muhammad Ali in Dublin, child.
But maybe this fellow could help you out.
[laughter]
Ignore the bastard.
[laughter]
- What did I just tell you? - I'll brain the bastard.
- Now, Michael-- - Joe, I swear to God.
I'll do jail twice over to wipe that grin off his puss.
Well, more fool you, Michael.
'Cause if you get locked up this time,
you're coming out in a box.
Patrick!
Get off of me!
Fuck off. Go on, fuck off for yourself.
Fuck off you too.
Patrick! Are you ready to be a man for your daddy?
Christ, you'll have no children left.
What'd you say?
Your Patrick against that sergeant's son?
It's not a fair match. He's twice the size of him!
Or is it you want to get the whole lot of them murdered?
Who's this boy's father, me or you?
I looked after him when you weren't around.
He was one of me own.
And a good job you did too.
He's as much of a coward as you are.
Now, Patrick, you listen to me.
It doesn't matter how many times you get knocked down.
It's how many times you get back up is what counts, right?
[laughter]
That's a proper tinker punch, isn't it?
[laughter continues]
Get up!
- [laughter] - Stay down, son.
There's no shame in losing an unfair fight.
Stay down!
MICHAEL: Get up.
If he don't kill ya, I will.
Let your hands go. Use your flaming fists!
Come on away with me, Patrick. We'll fix you up.
Let me fight! Stop! Let me finish it, Daddy!
Go on home to Granny.
Go on! Get out of here!
Do you want to end up like your mother before you?
You can live all your life on your knees if you want.
But I can't.
And I won't.
Michael, let her fight.
Let her do what she was born to do.
Oi!
Do you have gloves for that one?
Someone get gloves for my son
so he doesn't dirty his fucking hands.
For the love of Jesus! What happened to him?
Our Francis is back. There's gonna be blue murder.
One-two. One-two, three-four.
Come on!
Come on, Eamonn! Go on there!
[men cheering]
Come on, Francis.
Fight!
Come on!
Come on, Eamonn!
Good girl, Francis!
Keep the hands up, Francis! Come on!
Good girl, Francis!
Good girl!
Come on, you're better than this!
He's getting beat by a girl, are ya!
He's getting beat by a little girl.
Come on, Francis! Get in there, will ya?
- Ah, Jesus! Get up! - Think Ali! One-two!
Hands up.
Come on, Francis!
- Good girl, Francis! - Get up!
Come on, Francis!
Francis!
- That's it! - Get up, Francis!
[men cheering]
Get off her! Get off her, ya savage!
Come away, loveen.
This isn't your fight.
Big Mammy's right, Francis. Turn the other cheek.
The likes of him isn't worth it.
How many cheeks does a person have to turn?
Would you look at her?
Jesus, her mammy in heaven protect ya.
Take her away, son, before it's too late.
Don't! She'll hurt worse if she don't fight.
Am I right?
Is this your idea of law and order,
setting a child against a child?
Well, you're a disgrace!
The lot of ye! You're worse than animals!
Was it not enough for ye that ye killed this child's mother?
Yeah, well, the only good knacker is a dead knacker!
Dead!
- Go on, Francis! - Go, Francis.
Again!
- Come on! - Get up, I said!
[coughs]
Francis.
You're Mammy's little champion, aren't ya?
MICHAEL: One-two, one-two.
¶¶ [vocalizing]
Rise, Francis.
Keep your head up.
Rise.
One-two. One-two!
You don't let anybody knock you down.
Our own little Muhammad Ali
is the new heavyweight champion of the world!
Yay!
Who is the greatest?
Francis, who is the greatest?
Look at me, Mammy! I'm the greatest!
Enough, Francis.
Let that be an end to it.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!
Yeah! Well done! More power to ya, Francis!
She nailed him in fairness!
Yes, she did. She put manners on him.
Fair dues to ya.
Muhammad Ali himself wouldn't best you.
Ain't that right, son? Your lackeen done us proud!
- Stay away from me! - Come away, loveen.
Your daddy doesn't know what's good for him anymore.
Get away from me, I said!
I won! I showed him I was the greatest!
And you've said it before.
Remember?
Mammy said it too.
Say it.
Will you say it?!
You did your mammy proud.
¶¶ [melancholy]
Fucking, fucking inbreds.
You're the greatest daughter!
You're the fucking greatest!
Whoo!
[Michael cheering]
¶¶ [poignant]
Here, get that into you.
Away with ye!
Go on! Get outta there. Let the champion rest.
You be learning your books now, Patrick?
Yes.
Hello, Francis.
[chuckles]
- Hiya. - Got a puppy.
Uncle Tommy got him for me.
- Hey. - Hiya, puppy.
Show us your muscles.
That's the grandest muscle in all of Ireland.
Behave yourselves, ye.
Good job you never made it to Dublin, Francis.
Poor Muhammad Ali would've been going back to America
on a stretcher!
- [dogs barking] - [kids playing]
¶¶
¶ Blame me mammy for me temper ¶
¶ 'Twas she that had it first ¶
¶ And her mammy's mam before her ¶
¶ By all accounts was cursed ¶
¶ I'm descended from red devils ¶
¶ Scoundrels, demon Scots ¶
¶ Please, God, when I have me daughter ¶
¶ She'll be twice as bad and worse ¶
¶ Please, God, when I have me daughter ¶
¶ She'll be twice as bad and worse ¶
¶¶
¶ I never learned to hold me tongue ¶
¶ I chokes on humble pie ¶
¶ I never could behave myself ¶
¶ No nice little girl am I ¶
¶ Me nature 'tis obstreperous ¶
¶ Being bowed, it isn't fate ¶
¶ How could the likes of me be good ¶
¶ When I'm better at being great ¶
¶ Oh, I'm better at being great ¶
¶ How could the likes of me be good ¶
¶ When I'm better at being great ¶
¶¶
¶ I am me mammy's daughter ¶
¶ I has me granny's blood ¶
¶ Me great-great-granny made the world ¶
¶ And not by being good ¶
¶ I'm descended from red devils ¶
¶ Scoundrels, demon Scots ¶
¶ Please, God, when I have me daughter ¶
¶ She'll be twice as bad and worse ¶
¶ Please, God, when I have me daughter ¶
¶ She'll be twice as bad and worse ¶
¶ What will we do when we have no money ¶
¶ All true lovers, what will we do then ¶
¶ Only hawk through the town ¶
¶ For a hungry crown ¶
¶ And we'll yodel it over again ¶
¶ What will I do if I'd marry a tinker ¶
¶ All true lovers, what will we do then ¶
¶ Only sell a tin can ¶
¶ And walk on with me man ¶
¶ And we'll yodel it over again ¶
¶ What will we do if we'd marry a soldier ¶
¶ All true lovers, what will we do then ¶
¶ Only handle his gun ¶
¶ And we'd fight for the fun ¶
¶ And we'll yodel it over again ¶