My favorite "Orange" song is:
THE BALLAD OF WILLIAM BLOAT
In a mean abode on the Shankill Road
Lived a man named William Bloat;
He had a wife, the bane of his life,
Who always got his goat.
So one day at dawn, with her nightdress on,
He cut her bloody throat.
Well he was glad he had done what he had,
As she lay there stiff and still.
But a sudden awe of the angry law,
Struck his heart with an awful chill.
So to finish the fun so well begun,
He decided himself to kill.
He took the sheet from his wife's cold feet
And twisted it into a rope.
And he hanged himself from the pantry shelf,
'Twas an easy end let's hope.
In the face of death, with his dying breath,
He solemnly cursed the Pope.
But the strangest turn to this whole concern
Was only just beginnin'.
He went to Hell, but his wife got well
And she's still alive and sinnin'.
For the razor blade was German made,
But the sheet was Belfast linen.
To fully appreciate the song it helps to know that Shankill Road in Belfast is a hardcore Protestant section of the city, and also of the great pride that Ulster men (and women) have taken in the quality of linen produced in Belfast. My notes (I'm not sure where I found them)(!)credit the song to Raymond Calvert, and the source to "Songs of Belfast, Hammond." Who, what, or where is "Hammond" maybe someone here can tell me.