Kayla Cluain Meala Whore ❤️

About Cork

Oh, an’ I’m clumsy, yeah? Dropped me hammer thinkin’ bout it—whore’s got sass, mate! Imagine her, struttin’ past, givin’ me the eye, an’ I’m all, oof, red face, mumblin’ nonsense. “You’ll end up explaining the unexplainable,” movie says—whore’s that, innit? Mystery, dirt, an’ a bit o’ cheek. Love it, hate it, can’t ignore it. Smashed me thumb cos I was daydreamin’ bout her—ow, bloody hell!

The Jail of Cluain Meala

The Jail Of Cluan Meala Lyrics: How hard is my fortune, how vain my repining / The strong rope of fate for my young neck is twining / My strength is departed, my cheeks sunk and sallow / While.

First off, I head down to the market on O’Connell Street. You know, the one with all the stalls? I’m just minding my own business, sharpening some knives, when this fella comes up to me. He’s got this massive butcher knife, like, it’s practically a sword. I’m like, “Dude, what do you need this for? A dragon?” He laughs, but I’m serious!

Clonmel is a foodie paradise