The neck is the part of the body, on many terrestrial or secondarily aquatic vertebrates, that distinguishes the head from the torso or trunk. The adjective (from Latin) signifying "of the neck" is cervical (though this more frequently used to describe the cervix).
The cervical portion of the human spine comprises seven boney segments, typically referred to as C-1 to C-7, with cartilaginous discs between each vertebral body. The neck supports the weight of the head and protects the nerves that carry sensory and motor information from the brain down to the rest of the body. In addition, the neck is highly flexible and allows the head to turn and flex in all directions. From top to bottom the cervical spine is gently curved in convex-forward fashion. It is the least marked of all the curves of the column.
In the middle line below the chin can be felt the body of the hyoid bone, just below which is the prominence of the thyroid cartilage called "Adam's apple", better marked in men than in women. Still lower the cricoid cartilage is easily felt, while between this and the suprasternal notch the trachea and isthmus of the thyroid gland may be made out. At the side the outline of the sternomastoid muscle is the most striking mark; it divides the anterior triangle of the neck from the posterior. The upper part of the former contains the submaxillary gland also known as the submandibular glands, which lies just below the posterior half of the body of the jaw. The line of the common and the external carotid arteries may be marked by joining the sterno-clavicular articulation to the angle of the jaw.
Leave no loose ends
Oh we left our homes in London Town
in the last few days of May,
over the sea, Tipperary-bound,
in auld Ireland for to play...
The famous, boring Arsenal
had just won the F.A.Cup,
"It must be true," said Mr. Magoo,
"that my fortunes are looking-up!"
So we piled the gear in the Transit Van,
for to get the boat to Cork,
& we got so pissed upon the ship,
we could hardly shaggin' walk.
[Bridge]
Oh, the clouds have gone, the future's bright,
though the pressure's on, we'll be alright,
through storms & doubt, we'll boldly face it out,
[Chorus]
For we've found BLUE SKIES OVER NE-NAGH,
For we've found BLUE SKIES OVER NE-NAGH,
We moved into the cottage old,
with a roof of shite 'n' straw,
with his haunting, stern-faced ancestors
staring at us from the walls.
Twenty 'Tans' lay in a shallow grave,
a few yards down the Boreen,
but we couldn't care less 'cause in the press
lay ten bottles of poitín!
[Bridge]
[Chorus]
[Middle-8]
When we finally got to Dublin Town,
then we really had a ball,
but despite the excess we did impress
when we kicked-arse at Tramore!
All the folk in Nenagh's pubs & bars
showed us all a rare auld craic,
& though one remained in Borrisokane
these wild geese, we had come back.
& it weren't just booze with those country girls,
half the band were 'on the job',
- we only did one song in the whole two weeks,
& Magoo puked on the dog!
[Bridge]
[Chorus]
[Outro]
To win just once would be enough
For those who've lost in life and love
For those who've lost their guile and nerve
Their innocence their drive ind verve
For those who feel they've been mis-treated
Discriminated, robbed or cheated
To claim one victory inspired
To win just once is their desire
To win just once
To win just once
To win just once
To win just once
That would be enough
To win just once against the odds
And once be smiled on by the gods
To race with speed along the track
To break the tape and not look back
To never have considered losing
As if to win is by your choosing
To bare your soul for all to find
An honest heart and an open mind
To win just once
To win just once
To win just once
To win just once
That would be enough
So come on all ye full time, small town heroes
Cast away your inbred fears of
Standing out from all the rest
The cynics and the pessimists
The self-indulgent, almost rich
The blatant hurlers on the ditch
Time is passing, so come on
And face the ball, the game is on
To win just once
To win just once
To win just once
To win just once
That would be enough
(That would be enough)
To win just once
To win just once
To win just once
To win just once
Twas down the glen came McAlpine's men,
with their shovels slung behind them,
ah- twas in the pub that they drank the sub,
or down in the spike you'll find them,
well they sweated blood and they washed-down mud,
with pints and quarts of beer,
and now we're on the road again,
with McAlpine's Fusileers!
I stripped to the skin with Darkie Finn,
way down upon The Isle of Grain,
with Horse-face Toole,
I learnt the rule:
no money if you stop for rain!
For McAlpines' God is a well-filled hod,
your shoulders cut-to-bits and seared,
and woe to he who went to look for tea!
With McAlpine's Fusileers!
I remember the day that The Bear O'Shea
fell into a concrete stairs,
what Horse-Face said when he saw him dead:
it wasn't what The Rich call prayers!
I'm a navvy short! was the one retort,
that fell unto my ears,
when the going is rough then you must be tough!
With McAlpine's Fusileers!
I worked til the sweat near had me bet,
with Russian, Czech and Pole,
at shuttering jams up in the hydro-dams,
or underneath The Thames in a hole!
I've grafted hard, and I've got me cards,
and many a gangers' fist across me ears,
so if you pride your life, don't join by Christ
with McAlpines Fusileers!
V.1 Near Banbridge town, in the county down,
One morning last July,
Down a boreen green, came a sweet colleen,
& she smiled as she passed me by,
Br.1 She looked so neat from her two white feet,
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair,
-Such a coaxing elf, sure, I shook myself,
Just to see I was really there!
Ch. From Bantry bay, up to Derry quay,
From Galway to Dublin town,
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen,
That I met in the County Down.
V.2 As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head,
& I looked with a feeling rare,
& I says, says I, to a passer-by,
Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?
Br.2 He smiled at me, & he says, says he
She's the gem in Ireland's crown,
Young Rosie McCann from banks of the Bann,
She's the star of the County Down!
Ch.> From Bantry bay, etc.
V.3 At the harvest fair, she'll surely be there,
So I'll dress in my Sunday clothes,
& I'll try sheep's eyes & deludherin' lies,
On the heart of my nut-brown Rose,
Br.3 No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke,
Though my plough with rust turns brown,
Til a smilin' bride by my own fireside,
Sits the star of the County Down.
Ch.(x4)> from Bantry bay, etc.
I'm turning my head around and around
I'm turning my head around and around
So many girls and they all could be found
So many girls and they all could be
My neck's already much too long
My neck's already much too long
My neck's already much too long
My neck's already much too long
[Repeat Chorus once again]
So what the hell is going on
Everybody's turning his head
Cause my neck is so long
I think I gotta go to the medicine man
I think I'll take a flight
Cause I'm not peter pan
Well now I am in the aeroplane
We're flying very high
Higher than the rain
But what is this
It's a stewardess
She's passing by in a sexy dress
Chorus
My neck's already much too long
My neck's already much too long
My neck's already much too long
My neck's already much too long
My neck's already much too long
My neck's already
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah