To the tune of that classic jig, The Blackthorn Stick!

In Uttar Pradesh there's a bit of a feis,
Oh Christ, what a sesh!, in oul' Pashan Pud.
The whole place is littered with people in flitters
And others, embittered, are streaming with blood.
There's champion flingers and number one slingers
Their rocks are like Stingers and deadly their aim.
The faintish of heart should refuse to take part
Or drop out at the start of this devilish game.

When struck on the napper, I near came a cropper
But I had a whopper balled up in me fist.
I spied the oul' shite, who near put out me lights
As he threw out of spite and never yet missed.
My aim it was true and I needn't tell you
The air it turned blue as he roared and he raged.
Then he screamed out in pain as I lamped him again
And he lashed out in vain like an animal caged.

But then I got a shock, I got whacked with a rock
Four square in me clock, delivered with force.
I sought out my foe and delivered a blow
And he doesn't yet know the cause or the source.
For his temple I found and he made not a sound
But fell to the ground and he lay as if dead.
Which brought forth a cheer from those to my rear
And made the way clear for our forging ahead.