I was watching a program the other night about the IRA H block protests and I suddenly remembered the alternative.

For the younger members, Bobby Sands was a hunger striker in the H block prisons in the late 70's/early 80's. There was a group of them who were protesting for political prisoner status. Their last protest was a hunger strike during which Bobby Sands starved himself to death. There's murals of him all over West Belfast, they hold him up as the big hero of the 'troubles'.

There were countless jokes about him from the other side of course, the most famous being that Bobby Sands had won the slimmer of the year contest 1981. Anyway, whenever the IRA supporters started up with their rebel songs they usually got this back from soldiers (and the UDA)

Would you like a chicken supper Bobby Sands?
Would you like a chicken supper Bobby Sands?
Would you like a chicken supper, you dirty fenian f****er?
Would you like a chicken supper Bobby Sands?

the one i remember from my youth is

come out ye black n tans
come out and fight me like man
show your wife how you won medals down in flanders
where are the cheers and jeers
that you gayly let us hear
when our heroes of sixteen were executed

Oh, it is the biggest mix-up that you have ever seen.
My father, he was Orange and me mother, she was green.

My father was an Ulster man, proud Protestant was he.
My mother was a Catholic girl, from county Cork was she.
They were married in two churches, lived happily enough,
Until the day that I was born and things got rather tough.

Baptized by Father Riley, I was rushed away by car,
To be made a little Orangeman, my father's shining star.
I was christened "David Anthony," but still, inspite of that,
To me father, I was William, while my mother called me Pat.

With Mother every Sunday, to Mass I'd proudly stroll.
Then after that, the Orange lodge would try to save my soul.
For both sides tried to claim me, but i was smart because
I'd play the flute or play the harp, depending where I was.

Now when I'd sing those rebel songs, much to me mother's joy,
Me father would jump up and say, "Look here would you me boy.
That's quite enough of that lot", he'd then toss me a coin
And he'd have me sing the Orange Flute or the Heros of The Boyne

One day me Ma's relations came round to visit me.
Just as my father's kinfolk were all sitting down to tea.
We tried to smooth things over, but they all began to fight.
And me, being strictly neutral, I bashed everyone in sight.

My parents never could agree about my type of school.
My learning was all done at home, that's why I'm such a fool.
They've both passed on, God rest 'em, but left me caught between
That awful color problem of the Orange and the Green.

I sat within the valley green, I sat me with my true love
My sad heart strove the two between, the old love and the new love
The old for her, the new that made me think on Ireland dearly
While soft the wind blew down the glen and shook the golden barley

'Twas hard the woeful words to frame to break the ties that bound us
But harder still to bear the shame of foreign chains around us
And so I said, "The mountain glen I'll seek at morning early
And join the bold united men, while soft winds shake the barley"

While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging
The foeman's shot burst on our ears from out the wildwood ringing
A bullet pierced my true love's side in life's young spring so early
And on my breast in blood she died while soft winds shook the barley

But blood for blood without remorse I've taken at Oulart Hollow
And laid my true love's clay cold corpse where I full soon may follow
As round her grave I wander drear, noon, night and morning early
With breaking heart when e'er I hear the wind that shakes the barley

its funny - well it isn't funny at all really - but the words to the sash are stuck in my head (as are other shitty prod songs) and they're one of the things that I don't want to be reminded of ever...but what ya gonna do eh?! I cant remember stuff from a week ago, forget which houses owe me money, forget new songs 5 mins after playing them but remember the f ucking sash my father wore!

damn brain and damn bigoted arseholes the world over

Put an Irishman on a spit and you'll always find another one to turn the handle.... Irelands problem.

you should do a duet with snapper