MARCH, the army... Hih, hih... div. Enter the I.R.A. Band.
Please welcome to the stage DIV, the Long Fellow with the long neck bass.
"Three sharps, boys," they start, "Millwall, Millwall!" And other hits such as....
"During this struggle they will pull us down..." etc.
His war time cabinet will now WOW you with their budgetary melodies... it's in a minor key so beware of the glimmer man and your local volunteer force. (Includes Frank Aiken on the piano.)
"FUCK."
Have you ever seen a "blue" joow?
What about an Australian?
Not after the Anshluss in '39.
With our new State detuned radios we hear all of Hugo Boss's adverts.
STORM MILAN!
Warm guns are at stake! Popular music depends on it.
Arms raids in the Royal Borough of Chelsea and Kensington!
Can Vicky fit through the royal catflap?
Vell, vee vill haff tuh see. Danke.
Meanwhile...
"Lord Salisbury, do make the royal bosom a bit larger if you would."
"Well, Madame, I'm shovelling as fast as I can."
Gobble, gobble.
Comma, comma, fullsTOP. Instant death.
Oh, Maaawd, you are my muse. Your little nose led me to write "Easter 1916". All that shite about Pearse was the filler I used to throw those English bastards. The "terrible beauty" is my love for you. It's all-consuming and I love it. Marry me this day next week in Coole. Signed, Willie.
Poor Harold gettin' killed and the Frenchies making it into a big propaganda poster for recruiting.
The double-glazed window of FEAR/LOVE/LOATHING.
----------------AS SEIRBHÍS-----------------
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