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About Dundalk

Got me ragin tho, the way society kicks em down. Hypocrites, all of em! Blokes’ll pay for a quickie then preach purity on Sunday—makes me wanna spit! Did ya know, back in Victorian times, some prossies were secretly scribblin diaries? Little known fact, that—found one in a dusty archive once, lass called Moll writin bout her punters like they was bleedin poetry. “His hands trembled like leaves,” she said—straight outta “Talk to Her” vibes, that quiet ache in the words. Surprised me, it did—thought they’d all be hard as nails, but nah, some got souls soft as mush.