No Irish
no blacks
no dogs
nor
golliwogs.
There’s gonna be a row
a ruction
a ruckus
here now.
She needed no sup
to rile up
and
fight bare-knuckle
in the street.
A rarer woman
you’d travel many a mile
to meet.
Her rising slowly
assailing
curs
dragged from the bog
so lowly.
Giving out the tails
to those
who’d refuse yous
a crust
and
the dirt beneath their
fingernails.
No quarter asked nor given
By Jesus, she’ll see you in heaven
or hell.
Ah well!
To tear each other limb from limb
Tis’ a beautiful ting.
Went at it hammer and tongs
to right the world’s wrongs.
Unfair
share
of
knocks.
God bless
her cotton
socks.
Pickaxes and knives
the rest of our lives.
Glasses flying
biddies crying
tears for the dead
prayers for the dying.
Love affairs and lying.
Amidst all that strife
she spilled the tea on life
til
torn asunder
six feet under.
My hair
it turned to
grey
the day
she went away.
How to respond
to a slough of despond?
Not one died in vain.
It’s fightin time
again.
Strip to the waist.
For blood
we have the
taste.
Her breath in mine
it's fightin time.
Play a rebel tune
and
clear the room.
Make a ring.
Hear that saill éalaigh
sing.
Kiss the rosary
Lay the green sod over me.
Forget the pain.
It’s fightin time
again.
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