eCommerce

The Famine is Over, I think I’ll go Home, Goodbye Bonnie Shore, To which I was Born, The British ring true, when they sing me this song, I’ll go into the west, It’s there I Belong, Erin go Bragh, My Heart sings Aloud, A Celt to the core, a finnian son proud, I will leave with this Knowledge, Oh Proud Sons Of William, Your Sons & Your Daughters, Will soon all be Muslim, A land based on commerce, is what You inherit, While You sing rule Britania, In some pub called the ferret, No stout do You drink there, just pale German shite, In a decade or 2, will yer Grandsons be white, When You sit down this evening to yer Pizza or Curry, & your Girl talks of Imran, & the Quick need to Marry, Give thought to the reason You started this farce, by excepting a religion, from an English Kings Arse, But don’t miss the point, maybe taken to Laughter, It was more than 1 wife, Old King Henry was After, But You march in your bands, Make a great deal of Noise, Get Out of the way, we’re the bold Orange Bhoys, I’ll get to the Point, To be true dose not Bother Me, But your Church in this country, Is a tiny Minority, Although In Islam, You’ll sure have your place, Prayer gets You to Heaven, No need for Gods Grace, I’ll sign off just Now halfway home from Stranrar, Goodbye my dear Alba, & Erin Go Bragh,,,, … The harbours in sight, On the coast there’s a farm, what a beautifull sight, As we sail into Larne, Out on the street I have now time to think, My throats Like a dessert, About time for a drink, A nice Hearty Pint of that world Famous Stout, I am home after All, or am I, I doubt, as I order my pint in this wierd situation, Over the Bar is the Old Butchers Apron, I’m in for it now, I have to Admit, right to the top of my neck in the shit, We don’t serve your kind, says the Ugly fat Brit, A smile on his face, His Idea of wit, What Kind Would that be?, This Grabs his attention, & that of his Pals, or didn’t I Mention, 5 against 1, Bad odds In Any Town, But us Irish, We never know when to ba

Chosen Answer:

You obviously have an interest in poetry, and could work to make it even better. When you correct the spelling typos and get a better ending, you just might have something there. I think this reads more easily

The Famine is Over, I think I’ll go Home,
Goodbye Bonnie Shore, To which I was Born,
The British ring true, when they sing me this song,
I’ll go into the west, It’s there I Belong,
Erin go Bragh, My Heart sings Aloud,
A Celt to the core, a finnian son proud, (did you mean Fenian?)

I will leave with this Knowledge, Oh Proud Sons Of William,
Your Sons & Your Daughters, Will soon all be Muslim,
A land based on commerce, is what You inherit,
While You sing rule Britania, In some pub called the ferret, (Britannia?)
No stout do You drink there, just pale German shite,
In a decade or 2, will yer Grandsons be white,

When You sit down this evening to yer Pizza or Curry,
& your Girl talks of Imran, & the Quick need to Marry,
Give thought to the reason You started this farce,
by excepting a religion, from an English Kings ****,
But don’t miss the point, maybe taken to Laughter,
It was more than 1 wife, Old King Henry was After,

But You march in your bands, Make a great deal of Noise,
Get Out of the way, we’re the bold Orange Bhoys,
I’ll get to the Point, To be true dose not Bother Me,
But your Church in this country, Is a tiny Minority,
Although In Islam, You’ll sure have your place,
Prayer gets You to Heaven, No need for Gods Grace,

I’ll sign off just Now halfway home from Stranrar, (Stranraer?)
Goodbye my dear Alba, & Erin Go Bragh,,,, …
The harbours in sight, On the coast there’s a farm,
what a beautifull sight, As we sail into Larne,
Out on the street I have now time to think,
My throats Like a dessert, About time for a drink, (perhaps desert not dessert)

A nice Hearty Pint of that world Famous Stout,
I am home after All, or am I, I doubt,
as I order my pint in this wierd situation,
Over the Bar is the Old Butchers Apron,
I’m in for it now, I have to Admit,
right to the top of my neck in the ****,

We don’t serve your kind, says the Ugly fat Brit,
A smile on his face, His Idea of wit,
What Kind Would that be?, This Grabs his attention,
& that of his Pals, or didn’t I Mention,
5 against 1, Bad odds In Any Town,
But us Irish, We never know when to ba ….. (we never know what???)

A little correct punctuation and a couple of tweaks here and there, and you could have a little gem here.
by: bluebell
on: 20th October 11