Arts frae the hill

Verse Frae Famous Hillians

Oor Ain Team

A call to keep the present National fitba Team

One Team?
One Ground?
If Free Staters agree to Windsor
I'll gie yez a pound

Hockey & Rugby hae joined I hear ye greet
But these minor games are played no with feet
Isn't all this subject a mere Nationalist ploy
To banish our anthem for oul Danny Boy

Our flag they'll turn to Orange and Green
Wi' Windsor Park'll left empty no even a bean
An' this Pan-Oorish team is hardly a model
Tae beat even the average teams o' Glen Hoddle.

Let's not forget it was the Southerners who went
To form their own FA, on that they're hell bent
So now some expect US with oul cap in hand
Tae trundle tae Dublin forsaking our land

They'll skim past the fact that this is our home
Our country, our land and our place tae roam
To go down South to watch oor ain team
Would be like not standing for "God Save the Queen"

Reject these wild chants from the those naive lads
Who're slaves to fashion, to sound-bytes, to fads
OK so maybe we're not the best
But it's our own bloody country so give it a rest.

Annon 1997 though thought to be the work of Eric Peabody from Shanlea Drive

Cold Feet and Pretty full - eh Jennifer

A simple poem about a train ride to Belfast

Off we go.
On the train all
Crushed up.
Click opens a can o kestrel
Hidden in his bomber jacket .
Have I been bad?
I'm sorry I hae nae Money.

Dad, Mummy and gie me a fiver to f' away aff.
Kicked oot the big yard,
With lots and lots of barbed wire.
Lots of men with guns,
And green uniforms
Kicked my wab

Fir we're on the train tae Windor Park
Mary, lamb and a  lot of bark
The RUC grab Click
Punched his nose,
Done with a flick
Special branch in rows and rows

Hit his tummy,

And pushed him down.
Leave Click alain A-LAIN
Please.

Gregory was taken away behind a shed,
Monty says,
He's gone away,
To Castlereagh.
An he'll no be back today.

Those Green men with guns,
Pointed a sterlin at the fans.
They pulled Monty for a while,
And put them in a pile.
Why?

I want to go home.
Me heeds full o buckfast
And I hear the ether detainnes groan,
To have stew for dinner would be stoat.
If we werney all covered in each eithers boke.
Why?

I'm not pretty anymore.
Says Dougy Marteen,
I feel like a boy.
That's no the first time,
And s/he's not that coy.,

Shot,
	stabbed,
		hit,
			beaten,
				slapped

All because of the star on my flag
Why?

Me and Monty are going to get washed,
We have to undress.
Fruity Geoge has been moved to interrogation
And he thinks it just the best.

In we go.
Into a giant room.
To face the black bastard foe
A sense of impending doom
.

I'm full as a hatter.
And it's no frae water.
I see smoke.
Sparking frae some boke
Fugsake Click's on fire
Near enough started a funeral pyre.

Get up Monty man.
Yeve drunk yersel unconcoious on the back of the police van..
He must be sleepy.
Frae him there's no a peepy.
I'll lie down.
And watch them frown,
Again.

Derek aged 13 3/4
Greenland Skhool, Larne, County Antrim, Northern Ireland
First Prize
Poultry 13-15 Age Category

The next winning entry is Switched Off by the Lealies Drive meter tamperance society.

Annon 1997 though thought to be the work of Derek McFadden from the Upper Lynn Road