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Do you remember the day when if you said that you were gay It meant with joy you could sing and shout A fairy was enchanting and dressing up and camping was something you did with the scouts. Yield up the night-time to old John O' Dreams Yield up the night-time to old John O' Dreams Across the hills the sun has gone astray, Tomorrow's cares are many dreams away The sighs are flying, your candles dying Just one fine glass of stout Guiness Would hold him till the end of the trail. Please select the reason for reporting this comment. Shane Dunphy Would you be happy for your six-year-old to have unlimited, unsupervised access to a firearm — perhaps if it had been modified to only shoot lighter loads? Irish sport images provided by Inpho Photography unless otherwise stated. But come ye back, when summer's in the meadow, and all the valley's hushed and white with snow.

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Take a drink with old Rosin the Bow.

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FactCheck: Did Russian TV refuse to show Ireland's Eurovision entry over gay themes?

All along that singing river that black mass of men was seen High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green Death to every foe and traitor! The name of old Rosin the Bow. To welcome old Rosin the Bow. Then up spoke the cabin boy of our gallant ship And a brave young lad was he "Oh I have a sweetheart in Salem by the sea, And tonight she'll be weepin' for me. Personalise your news feed by choosing your favourite topics of interest.

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That carefree age when an urgent case of aids Was powdered milk we sent to the Sahara A fruit was something nice to eat a poof was something for your feet And a queen was an old tart in a tiarra. With me arms around her waist she slyly hinted marriage When to the door in haste came Captain Kelly's carriage Her look told me full well and they were not bewitchin' That she wished I'd get to hell or somewhere from the kitchen. Now the barrel broke my shoulder as to the ground it sped And when I reached the top I struck the pully with me head, I still clung on though numbed and shocked by this almighty blow When the barrel spilled out half the bricks,14 floors below. Violence and oppression are the tools used by both sides. This is a slow, sweet song My Wild Irish Rose, The sweetest flower that grows. I think that he takes her to bed.

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