Alison …

There's somethin' not right goin' on here. At first I thought it might have been the boys on the Falls spreadin' a smear. But I've figured it! It's thon dorty back-stabber Sam o' Derryadd.

Every time I get within a whiff of a coort, he's in leck a badger to drive them away.

Now take my advice, Alison and stay well clear of him. He's a nice-lookin' wee cottage right enough. But th'oul' hovel's fallin' to bits. You can see daylight through the thatch and the place is fair leppin' wi' wildlife o' every sort … mice, rats, flays, bed-bugs, clocks, eary-wigs and hairy eels. You wouldn't know if you were in a house or a David Attenborough programme.

As for Sam hisself; this wee song that follows'll gi'e you an idea of the class of character you're dealin' wi'. It goes to the air of "Donegal Danny".

DERRYADD SAMMY

I remember the night he first came in to our loyal Drumcree camp
A smelly oul' bugger, with shite on his boots, and a faint odour off him of the damp
He scratched his flabby arse and let out a great big fart and then he rifted long and loud – near made me boke
"How's it goin', lads? I'm big Sam o' Derryadd, come to join you loyal campin' folk"

CHORUS

So here's to those that are dead and gone
I wish that oul' Sam was in that crew
For he's fryin' my oul' head
From I wake till I hit bed
If I'd a hammer I would bate him black and blue

He picks his oul' nose and he fiddles with his toes (the smell is like a gorgonzola cheese)
His flies are always open (I reckon that he's hopin' it's a way to attract an oul' main squeeze!)
His teeth have never tasted paste and the dorty ignor'nt baste would like to give all weemin a quick grope
His head is full o' nits and his dingly-dangly bits have never been acquainted with the soap

Chorus

The size of his oul' butt and the girth of his oul' gut indicate that he's a glutton and a groo
He'd ate from dawn till eve, and anything you'd leave, he'd stuff it in his bake – I'm tellin' you
He's a gulpin and a carn, his mammy never larned him lessons about daycency and class
He's a shite-bag and a coolie, stains his trousers when he poolies, I could spend a fortnight kickin' his oul ass

Chorus