Jaysis shes a set of milkers on her that would feed a mart

Ive a horn on me that would bait pavorriti away from a pizza

Ive a horn on me that would bait a donkey out of a quarry

Shes a face like a chewed toffee

That lad would drink tar from a Wellington boot

Im so hungry id ate a tinkers toenails

Im so hungry id eat a horse and chase the jockey

Shes a cu*nt like a wizards sleeve

Me mickeys so hard id club a whale

I\'m as sick as a small hospital

I\'m so hungry I\'d eat a small child

She had a face on her like a well slapped a*se

Your\' re as welcome as a f*rt in a spacesuit

My mouth\'s as dry as a nuns cr@ck

He has rubber-lined pockets so he can steal soup

He thinks manual labour is a Spanish musician

As funny as a burning orphanage

He\'s so camp, he sh1te tent pegs

I\'m as sick as a plane to Lourdes

I feel like a boiled sh1te (hungover)

(when leaving) I\'m off like a debs dress

She had a face on her that would drive rats from a barn

As busy as the dalkey dole office

Sweatin\' like a paedophile in a Barney suit

As tight as a nun\'s knickers

I\'m so horny I\'d get up on the crack of dawn

I\'d crawl a million miles across broken glass to kiss the
exhaust of the van that took her dirty knickers to the
laundry.

Did your mother find out who your father is yet?

What would ye expect from a pig but a grunt

I left her with a face like a painters radio

A mickey the size of a double-value can of Right Guard

Jaysus, she could breastfeed a crèche

As fit as a butcher\'s dog

She \' s got more chins than a Chinese phone book

Not even the tide would take her out

Mother Teresa wouldn \'t kiss her

Daz wouldn\'t shift her

Des Kelly wouldn\'t lay her

A sniper wouldn\'t take her out

Jaysus, ya wouldn\'t ride her into battle

If I\'d a bag of bruised willies I wouldn\'t give her one

She has a face on her like a bulldog that\'s just licked p*ss
off a nettle

She wouldn\'t get a kick in a stampede

She had a f@nny like a badly packed kebab

STREETS OF NEW YORK, THE

I was eighteen years old, when I went down to Dublin
with a fistful of money and a cartload of dreams
"Take your time", said me father "stop rushing like hell
And remember all is not what it seems to be
For there's fellows would cut you for the coat on your back
Or the watch that you got from your mother
So take care me young buck-o and mind yourself well
And will you give this wee note to me brother"

At the time Uncle Benjy was a policeman in Brooklyn
And me father the youngest looked after the farm
When a phone call from America said 'Send the lad over'
And the ould fella said sure it wouldn't do any harm
For I spoent my life working this dirty old ground
For a few pints of porter and the smell of a pound
And sure maybe there's something you'll learn or you'll see
And you can bring it back home, make it easy on me

So I landed at Kennedy and a big yellow taxi
Carried me and my bags through the streets and the rain
Well my poor heart was pumping around with excitement
And I hardly even heard what the driver was saying
We came in the short parkway to the flatlands in Brooklyn
To my uncle's apartment on East 53rd
I was feeling so happy I was humming a song
And I sang you're as "Free as a bird"

Well to shorten the story what I found out that day
Was that Benjy got shot in a downtown foray
And while I was flyng my way to New York
Poor Benjy was lying in a cold city morgue
Well I phoned up the ould fella, told him the news
I could tell he could hardly stand up in his shoes
And he wept as he told me, go ahead with the plan
And not to forget to be a proud Irishman

So I went up to Nelly's beside Fordham Road
And I started to learn about lifting the load
But the healthiest thing that I carried that year
Was the bitter sweet thoughts of my home town so dear
I went home that December 'cause the old fella died
Had to borrow the money from Phil on the side
And all the bright flowers and grass couldn't hide
The poor wasted face of my father

I sold up the old farmyard for what it was worth
And into my bag stuck a handful of earth
Then I boarded a train and I caught me a plane
And I found myself back in the U.S. again
It's been twenty-two years since I set foot in Dublin
The kids know to use the correct knife and fork
But I'll never forget the green grass and the rivers
As I keep law and order in the streets of New York

THE distributors of Buckfast Tonic Wine have hit back at former Scottish Secretary Helen Liddell's 'vendetta' against them.

The potent drink's manufacturers J Chandler & Co are telling Scots politicians who blame Buckfast for 'human misery' to sort out the social problems without looking for scapegoats.

The outburst follows Liddell's renewed calls to ban the sweet wine made by Benedictine monks at Devon's Buckfast Abbey that features in incidents of violence.

The Labour MP for Airdrie and Shotts has urged Health Minister Melanie Johnson to visit her constituency to witness the 'graphic evidence' of the effects of Buckfast first hand.

Liddell's invitation was prompted by new EU regulations aimed at controlling false health claims. The move could force Buckfast to ditch the word 'tonic' from its name.

Hampshire-based J Chandler & Co reckon the EU move is convenient for Liddell to renew the attack she first began around a decade ago as part of her election campaign.

Managing director Tony Joyce said: 'It seems Mrs Liddell, as usual, is looking for a scapegoat on which to blame the problems and deprivations in Monklands, which she and a succession of governments have failed to tackle over the years.

'As always, these problems are conveniently ascribed to Buckfast which, research tells us, is responsible for less than one per cent of alcohol consumed in Scotland. The real problem is the abuse of all alcohol. Rather than make cheap remarks about us, she should address the underlying problems of the area.

'If Mrs Liddell is so concerned about promoting public health, she should logically move to ban all types of alcohol.

'A vendetta against one particular product in one area surely displays prejudice bordering on paranoia.'

Liddell wrote to Johnson, saying: 'Buckfast is a recipe for misery and anti-social behaviour. On more than one occasion, Scottish judges have referred to its use in cases of extreme violence.'

She offered to present 'graphic evidence' of the properties of Buckfast on a tour of the A&E unit at Monklands Hospital, Airdrie, showing 'the human misery caused by some of its enthusiastic consumers'.

The drink's distributors said 'tonic wine' is a permitted composite name, makes no health claims and has a disclaimer on the label.