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Feel Free to Pee on Me
Sep 30, 2004
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It's catchy, the new song by Britney Spears. It has a twist on meaning though that I find entertaining as heck.

Shakespere did the funnah with Twelfth Night, "...by my life this is my lady's hand. These be her very C's, her U's AND her T's and this makes her great P's."


IBwhat?
 
my favourite song of the minute

Lift MacCahir Óg your face, brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black FitzWilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure - Soon the firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.

Chorus;
Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now FitzWilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star low
Up with halberd out with sword
On we'll go for by the lord
Feach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow!

See the swords of Glen Imall, flashing o'er the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners
Rooster of a fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock- fly up and teach him manners.

From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore
Och, great is Rory Óg O'More, sending the loons to Hades.
White is sick and Lane is fled, now for black FitzWilliam's head
We'll send it over, dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.
 
my favourite song of the minute

Lift MacCahir Óg your face, brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black FitzWilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure - Soon the firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.

Chorus;
Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now FitzWilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star low
Up with halberd out with sword
On we'll go for by the lord
Feach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow!

See the swords of Glen Imall, flashing o'er the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners
Rooster of a fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock- fly up and teach him manners.

From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore
Och, great is Rory Óg O'More, sending the loons to Hades.
White is sick and Lane is fled, now for black FitzWilliam's head
We'll send it over, dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.

Get up, the giant country,
Get up for mortal fight
With Fascist horde uncounted,
With forces of the night

Chorus:
Let noble anger of the soul
Get boiled as a wave.
The people’s war, the holy war.
We’ll fight until the grave.

Let's give repulse to oppressors
Of all the ardent thoughts.
To rapers and to murderers,
Let's say the swear words.

We will not let the darkened wings
Fly over Motherland.
The native country spacious fields
Are not for fiend's extend.

For rotten fascist pack we've got
A bullet and a bomb.
The spawn of the planet Earth
Must get into the tomb.
 
my favourite song of the minute

Lift MacCahir Óg your face, brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black FitzWilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure - Soon the firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.

Chorus;
Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now FitzWilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star low
Up with halberd out with sword
On we'll go for by the lord
Feach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow!

See the swords of Glen Imall, flashing o'er the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners
Rooster of a fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock- fly up and teach him manners.

From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore
Och, great is Rory Óg O'More, sending the loons to Hades.
White is sick and Lane is fled, now for black FitzWilliam's head
We'll send it over, dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.

I figured you'd pick something more like this

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog,
It's all for me beer and tobacco.
For I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin,
Far across the western ocean I must wander.

Where are me boots, me noggin', noggin' boots,
They're all gone for beer and tobacco.
For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking out for better weather.

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog,
It's all for me beer and tobacco.
For I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin,
Far across the western ocean I must wander.

Where is me shirt, me noggin', noggin' shirt,
It's all gone for beer and tobacco,
For the collar is all worn, and the sleeves they are all torn,
And the tail is looking out for better weather.

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog,
It's all for me beer and tobacco.
For I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin,
Far across the western ocean I must wander.

I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed,
Since first I came ashore from me slumber,
For I spent all me dough on the lassies don't you know,
Far across the western ocean I must wander.

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog,
It's all for me beer and tobacco.
For I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin,
Far across the western ocean I must wander.