Troop movements
Flew them in from the Somme
The carrier never slows
Upon the mountain roads
That stows the troops
Stoves the Rhodes colossus of our rebel movement
The dizzying slopes.
Upon the mountain roads
What’s moving shoot
What’s shining loot
What’s that ticking
In the truck boot
Roger Casement armed me
Brand new Irish Republican Army
Roaring proud through the capital streets
Nothing to do with Elon’s tweets, freak tweaker will dies on Mars
Couldn’t be fast enough departing
Diverting attention is his department
When the Tans come back
We roll out the flag
We’re part of an Army but it’s not Jack
Charlton, we’re bog troops no Ritz Carlton
Soon their colonel is on a milk carton
An alarmist Crown wants to press charges
We’re building bombs in backyards, priming charges
Not worked so hard since Thatcher was in charge
All the work shy lads suddenly have busy hands, big plans
It’s not sunny lately but I’m catching Tans
On Lansdowne Road their blown up Vans
Send up celebrating hands by passing glancers
Rifling through corpse pockets, robbing graves I’m Robert Graves
Mammetz Wood certain cure for lust of blood
The mud buried half of his face should
Have stayed buried, flood
Of gore like good meat beaten
To pink mince, his organs of sense
Since reduced to flensed strips, past tense
Beauty for this countenance
Burning barns
Give you blackened hands
Fucking black and tans.
Alchemisland 
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