Half a Ball Hands across the water Harthill Village Hearts of glory Here lies a Soldier Hijack the Pope mobile How Hackett Fell

Half a Ball

I've travelled round this world of ours,
seen many a different hat,
In Spain they wear the Sombrero,
In America the baseball cap,
But the biggest laugh that i did get
was when i went to Rome,
There was a man out on a balcony
with a half ball on his dome.

Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball
to hide his baldy head,
They say that he'll still have it on
when he's lying dead,
I wonder if he'd wear it
if he knew when it was whole,
That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols
into the Celtic goal.

Oh, The soldiers they wear helmets
to protect thier heads,
And your granny to keep warm
wears a nightcap to her bed,
In Scotland there's the pipers,
Thier Busby's lookin' braw,
But you've got to laugh at pope John Paul
'cos he wears half a ball.

Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball
to hide his baldy head,
They say that he'll still have it on
when he's lying dead,
I wonder if he'd wear it
if he knew when it was whole,
That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols
into the Celtic goal.

Oh, The pope he came to Glasgow
and kneeled down to kiss the ground,
A little boy ran up to him
and the crowd were struck dumb-found,
The little boy then raised his foot
and kicked the half a ball,
He said "I'm sorry mr pope man,
i was trying to score a goal".

Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball
to hide his baldy head,
They say that he'll still have it on
when he's lying dead,
I wonder if he'd wear it
if he knew when it was whole,
That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols
into the Celtic goal.

I remember in the papers,
It read King Billy was gay,
But i wish those lying reporters
would report on the present day,
They tried to make us Proddy's out
to be a laughing stock,
When the timss they worship
a man in a half ball,
Beads and a long white frock.

Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball
to hide his baldy head,
They say that he'll still have it on
when he's lying dead,
I wonder if he'd wear it
if he knew when it was whole,
That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols
into the Celtic goal.

I remember in the papers,
It read King Billy was gay,
But i wish those lying reporters
would report on the present day,
They tried to make us Proddy's out
to be a laughing stock,
When the timss they worship
a man in a half ball,
Beads and a long white frock.

Oh, Pope John Paul wears half a ball
to hide his baldy head,
They say that he'll still have it on
when he's lying dead,
I wonder if he'd wear it
if he knew when it was whole,
That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols
into the Celtic goal.

That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols
into the Celtic goal.

That the ball was kicked by Micheal Mols
into the Celtic goal.

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Hands across the water

Just across the Irish Sea,
Stirs a heart of Loyalty,
Raised in Honour and in dignity,
Drives a will to keep us British free,
Not alone are we on this journey,
For in a land just across the sea,
Is a hand that reaches out in friendship,
And a bond thats lasted centuries.

And it's hands across the water,
Reaching out for you and me,
For Queen, For Ulster and For Scotland,
Helps to keep our Loyal people free,
Let the cry be "No Surrender",
Let no-one doubt this Loyalty,
Reaching out to the Brave Red Hand of Ulster,
Is the hand across the sea.

And it's hands across the water,
Reaching out for you and me,
For Queen, For Ulster and For Scotland,
Helps to keep our Loyal people free,
Let the cry be "No Surrender",
Let no-one doubt this Loyalty,
Reaching out to the Brave Red Hand of Ulster,
Is the hand across the sea.

Just across the Irish Sea,
Stirs a heart of Loyalty,
Raised in Honour and in dignity,
Drives a will to keep us British free,
Not alone are we on this journey,
For in a land just across the sea,
Is a hand that reaches out in friendship,
And a bond thats lasted centuries.

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Harthill Village

Have you ever seen the Orangemen on the Twelth day of July,
Have you ever seen the brethren as proudly they march by,
Have you heard the masters orders, have you heard the chapmans call,
Put on your Orange ragalia for we march right through Harthill.

It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen,
Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green,
Are all those banners waving to show those Fenians all,
That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.

For we number twenty thousand as proudly we march down,
Those streets i've walked since childhood, those streets that make me proud,
I've walked those streets since childhood and still I will recall,
That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.

It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen,
Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green,
Are all those banners waving to show those Fenians all,
That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.

For you've heard of old Dan Winters, Two hundred years ago,
Who formed our Orange Order and proudly watched it grow,
He said "Come stand by Ulster, Come stand or else you'll fail",
You Protestants of Scotland when your marching through Harthill.

It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen,
Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green,
Are all those banners waving to show those Fenians all,
That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.

For you made us take a promise that we will never break,
There'll be no Fenian Order, Our hearts they'll never take,
Our freedom that was given to us by William proud and tall,
And we'll always march in freedom, When we're marchin through Harthill.

It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen,
Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green,
Are all those banners waving to show those Fenians all,
That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.

In a land not far away from here, in a place thats shining bright,
Our lovely Queen sits watching, She loves this glorious sight,
She even sends us Telegrams to say "God bless you all",
You Protestants of Scotland when were marching through Harthill.

It is a lovely village, the finest ever seen,
Surrounded by sweet countryside and fields of earth so Green,
And all those banners waving to show those Fenians all,
That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.

That glorious day when we all marched through the village of Harthill.

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Hearts of glory

This is my story, This is my song
It's a long way from Gorgie to the fields o the Somme
Where they played tunes of glory, as we marched along
The pals o the Sporting battalion

From the Heart of Midlothian to the Waverly train
The crowds they were singing an auld Scots refrain
Our sweethearts and darlings our bonnie wee bairns
Were waving their flags and calling our names

Sing Hearts of Glory, dawn and sunset
Hearts of glory, Lest we forget
Young Scottish soldiers and soldiers unknown
Who gave hearts of glory

In the trenches of Picardy the whistles are blown
And it's over the top lads through the wire and the bombs
To pain and destruction let the piper play
To lead us to hell to death and dismay

There was never a moment I was not afraid
But there by my side were the gallant McCrae's
Until they fell in the slaughter when the bayonets were out
And the few of us left held the auld Scots Redoubt

Ellis and Currie Briggs, Boyd, Hazeldean
Wattie and Nisbet He was only sixteen
Their names I'll remember at the end of each day
They fought and died wi Geordie McCrae

Who cared for the Kaiser or imperial gains
Love of our country, duty or fame?
Between the whim of an airman and four feathers of shame
We fought for the pals of a wee fitba team

And when it was over just what had we done?
There were no flags of glory for McCrae and his own
There were no graves for heroes for our brothers and sons
Who sleep 'neath the flowers in the fields of the Somme

Some came back as cripples some couldnae kick a ball
Some wounded and broken most came not at all
But they remain in my memory Forever young
The pals o the Sporting battalion

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Here lies a Soldier

In dungeon deep, I know what fates awaits me,
Tied hand and foot, the foe has bound me fast,
And in my pain, I pray my God above me,
Will grant this wish I know will be my last.

Don't bury me in Erin's fenian valley,
Take me home to Ulster let me rest,
And on my gravestone carve a simple message,
Here lies a soldier of the UVF.

Here lies a soldier, here lies a soldier,
Who fought and died for what he thought was best,
Here lies a soldier, here lies a soldier,
Here lies a soldier of the UVF.

So gently drape the red hand round my shoulders,
Pin no heroes medals on my chest,
But if they ask you, will you kindly tell them,
Here lies a soldier of the UVF.

Here lies a soldier, here lies a soldier,
Who fought and died for what he thought was best,
Here lies a soldier, here lies a soldier,
Here lies a soldier of the UVF.

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How Hackett Fell

Come all ye true and loyal hearts,
Who love the Orange and the Blue,
And level an ear to these few words
I now address to you.
'Tis of a crewl papist act,
But that is nothing new,
The murder of the innocent,
The Gallant and the True.

I'll tell you how at Montreal
The Orange was put down,
How true and loyal citizens
Of that historic town
Were not to show the colours,
On the twelfth day of July,
And the glorious Orange Banner
They were not allowed to fly.

These grevious instructions
Were issued by the Mayor,
And so the gallant Hackett
Was mobbed and murdered there.
In defence of injured innnocence
A lady, so they tell,
Tho' they were more than ten to one
He bravely fighting fell.

But this year will quickly pass,
And another Twelfth will come,
When with Orange banner's flying,
Brass bands and fife and drum
All heart and hand together
Down to Montreal we'll go
We'll show these Popish minions
That we're no beaten foe.

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