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!