First of all a word to the detractors and apologists …

In a post above one of youse claims that "until now you didn't know anyone could type with their buttocks".

Well I've got news for you! People with fundamentalist Protestant views can do just about anything with their buttocks. Typing's a doddle, it's wee buns. If you want a case in point, think only of our dear American Brother in Christ, the Reverend Brother Jerry Lee Lewis, a man that could likely play The Green Grassy Slopes Of The Boyne on the piano with his arse. (And could probably make a good stab at it farting down a mouth organ as well.)

So before proceeding any further, let's hear it for the nimble buttocks of Lutheranism, the spry arse-cheeks of Calvinism (and I'm not talking Klein) and the dextrous rumps of fundamentalism.

And another correction! Purple and Orange is in no way connected with Brother Conrad, whose views he describes as namby-pamby and liberal. Purple and Orange is none other than Brother Gordy McMordy, Grand Master of LOL 666, Hell's Mouth, and henceforth shall contribute to this debate in his own name.

To proceed! Brother McMordy – a bare tit and a furled trouser to you! I think you're a wee bit confused. I didn't write the fine song you've published. I was responsible for "The Boul' Orange Campsite at Drumcree" which goes to the tune of the shinners' "Kelly The Boy From Killane". An aisy mistake, so rest aisy on your camp-bed.

I reproduce it below for the greater glory of our vengeful Lord.

THE BOUL' ORANGE CAMPSITE AT DRUMCREE
(Copyright Isaac McKittery)

What's the news, what's the news, my boul' Orangeman, with your bowler, your brolly and your sash?
Why in such haste through the streets do you race and why in such hurry do you dash?
Goodly news, goodly news do I bring unto you, goodly news do I carry to thee
For all of its might England quakes at the sight of the boul' Orange campsite of Drumcree

Though we're up to our oxters in cow-clap and glar, with no telly, no toilet nor no bath
We will still stand our ground like those men of renown who held out in Derry to the last
Oh the Fenians may wrap the green flag around as into the grave they are sent
But when I'm deceased, if oul' Ulster's not released, you may wrap Brother Isaac in a tent

And when I'm enrolled in the heavenly fold I won't need no mansion in the sky
Some cloth and some pegs in a canvas kit-beg is all that I'll need to get by
When Glory I gain, I will never complain if I'm quartered along with my kind
Cos I'd hate for to spend my days without end living like a pearl among swine