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16 Glen Down by the rue de Dunkerque I met an Irishman by name Glen He had a girlfriend by name Sharon And as we bade one another, “Hello!” I thought of the hell hole The one from which they hail. As I probed further He in a rage screamed: “You can’t understand Being African the problem is Irish And you can’t understand anything ANC…” I laughed At the remembrance Of those days as a schoolboy When scanning “An Irishman Foresees his death” “The Bloody Sunday” And playing Singe’s “Show-boy…” And a host of others Were all with my world one! How could I know anything about this And being all else but Catholic, And having been everywhere else safe in Ireland And in prison Lord safe my soul He waxed his ears for four miserable years In prison spent And I wonder if every Irish Brigand In Prison Be hailed Hero …! ...

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