West Mids Saints Twickenham Songbook (2)

By West Mids Saint
April 26 2002

BERNIES SONG
(to the tune of Paddy McGintys Goat)
B at HQ
Bernie on the hallowed turf.

Mister Patrick McGinty,
left his Irish home,
Jumped on a boat to England
and came across the foam
Glad to be leaving ,
that damp old Irish bog
His only companionship,
Digger his mangy dog.

They travelled this fine country
and discovered lots of gems
But finally they settled down
beside the flowing Thames
In a place they called the Mad Jet
It was like their Irish base
The grass was green, the Guinness black
and no-one in the place.

They met a bloke called Venter
who taught 'em lots of tricks
Like how to beg or lay down dead
and even run for sticks.
Those early days were happy
but soon the numbers up
For Patrick McGinty,
and his mangy little pup.

They made a date for Twickenham
to meet some friendly Saints
But they had brought their own wee pooch
not harnessed in restraints
This ruddy great St Bernard
With it's leering, evil eyes
Crept up behind McGinty's dog
And took it by surprise.

Now there was such commotion
as the frisky canine beast
chased poor little Digger
Through the West and North and East
By the time they reached the South Stand
where the families were sat
McGinty's dog was screaming
like a right old scaredy cat.

Doc Venter cried "Oh stop him
He's playing much too rough"
He stamped his feet and shook his fists
Then stormed off in a huff.
"I'm gonna tell the RFU
about your filthy game"
Bernie looked remorseful.
But he went on just the same.

The Wolfhound retreated
with his tail between his legs
He hid behind McGinty
And for mercy he did beg
But when he looked for Bernie
That beast he couldn't find
'Cos by that time the lustful dog
Had crept back round behind

"Oh can you take your dog away?"
They heard McGinty shout
But Bernie hadn't finished
And his tongue was hanging out
They ran to fetch cold water
to cool old Bernie down
And half a pint of Guinness
Paddy's sorrows for to drown.

Now Bernie gave those Saints a wink
His only aim to please
Not only did he tup the hound
He also gave it fleas
Some silly men in lime green wigs
phoned the RSPCA
And cried "That great big buggers spoiled
Old Paddy McGinty's day"

When Bernie'd finally finished
and had his wicked way
And all the dust had settled
There was nothing left to say
When Saints went home they took the cup
That their dog Bernie bagged
And poor McGinty's Digger
He was well and truly tired out after all the goings on.



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