The Eleventh Night, the green square of every council estate in Protestant and some non-Protestant Ulster burns. I reckon Mattress by mattress, wooden crate by wooden crate, we rebuild ! But these moolahs they have other ideas. There are horror stories. These yahoos burn anything thats flammable. The common fare isnt so cultured as to indulge in Buckfast, 3 litre bottles of White Lightning. Its a 24 crate of Harp thing. So theyre there, swaggering around, cursing and trying to master something that passes for music : the council estate kids poking the 30ft mount with bits of stick and being told off by some bare chested muscular tattoo-ridden one. The sixbellies are at it too. Its a pulled down tight baseball cap carnival and the silly girls who live inside their tracksuits. The hardliners demonstrating who they fought this year and how they did it, whos a dead man, whos a fucking cunt, aye aye and alright tommy alright jaunty don't get yer knees done and seeya next week. One of these idiots, a staunch UVF proclaimer, takes a milk bottle filled with petrol and casts it into the flames. Its intercepted by a lamp-post. It bounces off the lamp-post. It catches the guys thick trousers and he's rolling around on the grass trying to get the stink out and trying not to catch fire. I guess what comes around goes around.
Eleventh Night Bonfire
The Eleventh Night, the green square of every council estate in Protestant and some non-Protestant Ulster burns. I reckon Mattress by mattress, wooden crate by wooden crate, we rebuild ! But these moolahs they have other ideas. There are horror stories. These yahoos burn anything thats flammable. The common fare isnt so cultured as to indulge in Buckfast, 3 litre bottles of White Lightning. Its a 24 crate of Harp thing. So theyre there, swaggering around, cursing and trying to master something that passes for music : the council estate kids poking the 30ft mount with bits of stick and being told off by some bare chested muscular tattoo-ridden one. The sixbellies are at it too. Its a pulled down tight baseball cap carnival and the silly girls who live inside their tracksuits. The hardliners demonstrating who they fought this year and how they did it, whos a dead man, whos a fucking cunt, aye aye and alright tommy alright jaunty don't get yer knees done and seeya next week. One of these idiots, a staunch UVF proclaimer, takes a milk bottle filled with petrol and casts it into the flames. Its intercepted by a lamp-post. It bounces off the lamp-post. It catches the guys thick trousers and he's rolling around on the grass trying to get the stink out and trying not to catch fire. I guess what comes around goes around.
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