The awr one I min' is to the tune of a song the tims sing which is called "McAlpine's Fusiliers", written I believe, by one of a rake of gather-ups from thon hellhole in the Free State, Dublin.

Anyways, it's about our side's vale of tears and sea of woes. It's called "Paisley's Fusiliers".

PAISLEY'S FUSILIERS

(spoken)
It was in the year of '98 when I became a brawr
The smile on my oul' fawr's face; the pride on that of mawr
They had a do that very night at the local LOL
(Not a temperance lodge, thank God, we all got drunk to hell!)
With me sash, me gamp and bowler, I looked the very part
As out I strode out upon the twelfth, I near broke me mawr's heart
But the grantin' of that honour's nearly been the death of me
For I'm frozen to my bollocks in a churchyard in Drumcree

As down the glen came the Orangemen with their banners furled before them
With their flutes and drums down the road they come; it's hard for the Catholics to ignore them
They're headed for Garvaghy Road, but their journey will soon end in tears
When the cops say "No, back up the road you go" to Paisley's Fusiliers

These well-dressed gents sit in their tents and think of the glories of the past
Aughrim, Boyne, The General Strike, each image ever greater than the last
It sours our gall and it breaks our balls, I don't think about it else I'd near explode
That we can't process a hundred yards more or less up the Garvaghy Road

The shanty town outside Portadown shines like a beacon through the land
From this very site is being waged the fight some call the Ulster Protestants' last stand
We'll pursue our cause, and we'll challenge the laws, though the battle it may last for many years
But the day will come, when we'll overcome, say Paisley's Fusiliers