Anna Cluain Meala Whore ❤️

About Drogheda

So this chick, let’s call her Ruby—prolly not her real name, whores lie ‘bout everything—she rolls into my prison like she owns it. Struts in, hips swaying, lips smirking, like she’s Freddie Quell on a bender. I’m thinkin’, “What’s your angle, sweetheart?” ‘Cause everybody’s got one. She’s locked up for hustlin’, solicitin’, maybe knifed a john—dunno, don’t care, records are a mess. Point is, she’s a pro. Not just at screwin’—at screwin’ *people*. Got this vibe, y’know? Like she could charm the bars off this dump.

The goal Of Cluain Meala, lyrics and guitar chords

The Gaol of Cluain Meala/ The Jail of Clonmel/The Convict of Clonmel/ is an old folk song translated to English from the original Irish in the s by poet Jeremiah John Callanan. The .

Anyway, I get to work, and the blade’s all rusty. I’m grinding away, and suddenly, I hear this commotion. Turns out, there’s a street performer on the corner of the square. He’s juggling flaming torches, and I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need. A fire hazard while I’m sharpening.” But then, he drops one! Fire everywhere! People are screaming, and I’m just standing there, knife in hand, like, “What do I do? Call the fire brigade or keep sharpening?”

Another huge leap as Clonmel secondary school reaches All-Ireland basketball final