Boys, I never seen nothin' like the oul' campsite, at all. It's like bloody Woodstock, boys! There's fellas growin' their hair and painting wee union jacks and red han's on their oul' gubs. Flower power … stacks of orange lilies everywhere! Here comes a fella wi' a guitar. He's sittin' down on his oul' hunkers till give us a song. What'll it be "Hey Mr Tangerine Man", maybe? Let's give him a listen! Hey Mr Tangerine Man, play a song for me Derry's Walls or Dolly's Braes or Lie Down, Croppy Hey Mr Tangerine Man, play a song for me As you walk out some twelfth mornin' I'll come followin' you Take me for a stroll along the oul' Garvaghy Road I've got a rake of blow, I'm ready for to go Waitin' only for my brothers to start danderin' I'm ready to go anywhere, but I will never fade I love an oul' parade, cast your marchin' spell my way I'm ready to go under it Hey Mr Tangerine Man, play a song for me As you walk out some twelfth mornin' I'll come followin' you Jaysis, thon was powerful, right enough! But, whisht. Bit of order, there! One singer, one song, now! In the county Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon There lived an oul' farmer they called Sammy Gannon Now Sam grew quare silage, Kerr's Pinks and fine rye But the crafty oul' bugger grew something forbye For beyant, in the greenhouse, he grew a rare weed That sprung up like a triffid from Sam's budgie seed And when smoked in a pipe, or when rolled in a feg By Christ I can tell ye, it was a quare geg Toorala-tooralee They smoke mighty fine joints around Tanderagee A fenian called Donal who lived next till Sam Run out of dope and was feelin' quite wan He was feelin' despondent, subdued and heart-sore But resolved in the night he would rifle Sam's store Under cover of darkness he crept at great speed To Sammy's oul' greenhouse, where grew the proud weed And he gave it a yank, out it come by the root Says Donal I'll soon blow the oul' Orange flute Toorala-tooralee They smoke mighty fine joints around Tanderagee Now Donal and Micky and Seamie and Sean Chopped up thon oul weed, which they stuffed in a bong And Sean lit his zippo and soon set aflame The weed that they nyucked from Sam Cannon's demesne Oh they lit thon oul' weed and they sucked down the fumes And soon the whole company with joy was consumed Says Seamie, By Christ, the best of a toot Is a tune that you play on the oul' Orange flute Toorala-tooralee They smoke mighty fine joints around Tanderagee
Now thon's what I call music!
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