Copied and pasted from several posts in the first Drumcree thread.

Wolfgang

THE CAMPSITE AT DRUMCREE

Oh then Sammy, dear, did you hear the news that's going round
Our brethren are forbid by law to march through Portadown
That's a piece of news, my boy, that makes my blood run cold
To think the loyal Orange cannot walk Garvaghy road
Cannot walk Garvaghy road, cannot walk Garvaghy road
To think the loyal Orange cannot walk Garvaghy road

They say the whinging fenians are kicking up a fuss
Along their road they do not want to see the likes of us
With our colours and our emblems and our bands, so young and keen
With their "Derry's Walls" and "Dolly's Braes" and the oul' "God Save the Queen"
The oul' "God Save The Queen", the oul' "God Save The Queen"
With their "Derry's Walls" and "Dolly's Braes" and the oul' "God Save The Queen"

If we're not allowed to march, whatever shall we do?
For we must show the world that we are loyal, brave and true
We'll put up such resistance, we'll bring England to its knees
So come on, Sam, stout Orangeman, we'll camp out in Drumcree
We'll camp out in Drumcree, we'll camp out in Drumcree
So come on, Sam, stout Orangeman, we'll camp out in Drumcree

Such a loyal encampment, you never 'fore did see
As the camp that was erected by the brave boys of Drumcree
Whenever there's a long weekend, the only place I'll go
Is to the orange campsite near the oul' Garvaghy Road
Near the oul' Garvaghy Road, near the oul' Garvaghy Road
Is to the orange campsite near the oul' Garvaghy Road

I love to go a wandering along the mountain track
But when I'm in those distant hills I'm longing to get back
For I long to sleep beneath the stars that twinkle high above
The camping site near Portadown, the wee town that I love
The wee town that I love, the wee town that I love
The camping site near Portadown, the wee town that I love

On holidays some brethren go up North to Portrush Town
But I like to spend my fortnight in a field near Portadown
There are no flashing slot machines and no foaming billows roar
But we sit around the fire and sing "The Sash My Father Wore"
"The Sash My Father Wore", "The Sash My Father Wore"
We sit around the fire and sing "The Sash My Father Wore"

We don't care if it's lashing, our camp we'll not desert
For the causes's sake me boys, I'll proudly wade through dirt
(Besides my family residence is a few yards down the road
I sneak in round the back some nights when it gets a wee bit cold
When it gets a wee bit cold, when it gets a wee bit cold
I sneak in round the back some nights when it gets a wee bit cold)

The on-site facilities are hardly up to scratch
We pooly in a bucket and do the rest we crouch
Down in a corner of a field where the nettles sting our ass
For the cause of dear oul' Ulster, we wipe with a clipe of grass
We wipe with a clipe of grass, we wipe with a clipe of grass
For the cause of dear oul' Ulster, we wipe with a clipe of grass