The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

the ghosts

Evening at the Chateau de Healy.
I am alone in the front room.
My gentle preraphaelite features have a sombre quality.
The door opens quietly.
The ghosts of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and someone called The Big Bopper enter.
They are followed by the ghost of Don McClean.
The ghosts begin setting up their instruments.
"Heelers," says Buddy Holly, "we wrote this one for you."
Don McClean steps forward and begins to sing.
His voice is strangely whiney but also strangely appealing.
Don McClean sings:
"I remember how I cried,
When I heard that Heelers' hamster died,
Something touched me deep inside,
The day,
The hamster,
And I was singing,
Bye bye
Pro American Pie
Oh I wrote a blog article
Saying Al Qaeda must die
And there were some good old Irish Times journos
Drinking whiskey and rhye
Let's put George Bush on trial
Let's put George Bush on trial
Oh do you believe in God above
The God Stephen Hawking says you cannot prove,
Maybe Richard Dawkins
Was once a Christian for a while,
And Philip Pullman
Is sneering at Saint Thomas Moore,
As Nelson Mandela flirts
With his British whore
And Nelson's friend Charles Taylor
Sends children to mine diamonds for her.
Osama be nimble,
Osama be quick,
Jumpin Jack Bin Laden
Jumped over the Pakistani candlestick
But he doesn't care much for any fight
That doesn't involve air hostesses
On civilian flights
He thinks maybe there's another way
To make this Jihad business pay
Then Barack Obama kicked off his shoes,
And Bin Laden really dug those Guantanamo blues.
Oh a hundred misty teenage nights
The Hutton Enquiry switched out the lights
And brought Britain into the Caliphate
For a dime
And Sky News was on the scene
Reporting where Old Hammy had been
They said Hammy is the terrorist
Number one on the most wanted list
And the Johnston Press were going down
Like a sinking ship full of clowns
It made me think that maybe we need an A-Bomb
To make it all a little more humane
I can't bear the thought that they might drown
Surely something must be done
Couldn't we just shoot them in the bawls for a while?
A hundred banks in Ireland fail
As Cian O'Connor's horse busts out of jail
And Tony O'Reilly gets a job as a motorcycle courier
Ferrying dope-test specimens to test labs, nothing groovier
Bye Bye
Pro American Pie
Oh I drove to Grafton Steet
But Grafton Street was dry
And there were some Black Jacket Al Qaeda gangsters
Holding up street advertising signs
This'll be the day that you all die
This'll be the day that you all die
And the Mussies sued for damages
When their bombs blew up the wrong carriages
They'd missed their scheduled fate
Because British Rail was running late
And Michael Mansfield QC
Put Britain on trial
To keep Jihadis free
He reckons he'll be dead before they take over anyway.
It all kicked off with aplomb
Dig those Jihadi bombs
And a hundred crazy football yobs
Taught the Mussies how to sob
It made me think of Dunkirk for a while
And the Irish Times was through the floor
It's editor walking out the door
The journos kicked off their shoes
Dig those abortions and blues
The Irish economy now in the mire
With liberal atheists catching fire
They're gonna shut down the Catholic Church after two thousand years,
And replace it with something Karl Marx would approve...
Bye Bye
Pro American Pie
Oh I drove to the levy but the levy was dry
And those good old liberal atheists were drinking whiskey and rhye
Singing this'll be the day that the Free World dies."


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