Gypo

Talk to almost any European today—that is, an accepted European. “Those bloody gypos,” says an Englishman. “Filthy, lazy beggars and thieves,” says a Belgian. “Kidnappers,” says a Frenchman. Even according to some gypsiologists, the Roma are not essentially a nomadic or “wandering” people; […]

"[…] that you're closing down a logging operation, when you look out there in the woods and there's gypos running around like pissants on a honey tree, that there's no logging out there. Let's move these people. In fact, if these people have got to become gypsies of the industry and move around and log because you shut their jobs off and they've got to go to work for Brand X Logging, then at least let us contract and do it for a major employer where our seniority and our benefits are still intact."

Sure enough the Scots and the gypsies had introduced each other and it looked like me and Paul had a riot on our hands. Johnny, the other lad, had to stay on the door, as is standard practice. There was a ruck of about twenty blokes punching and kicking seven bags of shit out of each other, so me and Paul got amongst it as best we could. I pulled the gypos back, sovereign rings and all, while Paul weighed into the kilt-wearing warriors.

Some people live in caravans all the time, I say to Ronnie. / Yeah, the gypos, he says. / When they knocked all the old houses down on Kates Hill the gypsies came and lived there. […] Some people doh think the same as us. Some people am different to us. Don’t worry about it. / Like the gypos? / Don’t you dare say gypos! I doh want to hear you saying that word! […] You can call them gypsies. I don’t want you repeating what you hear other people say. / She says this all the time. / Actually, I have heard my dad call them gypos when he was washing the car, talking to a neighbour of ours called Mick, but I think I’d better not mention it.

“[…]And any fucking gypo, foreigner, anyone, just kill them,” said the voice.