Apologies to Kipling and WMS

THE Camel's hump is an ugly lump
Which well you may see at the Zoo;
But uglier yet is the hump we get
From losing a cup at HQ.

Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
When we lose a cup at HQ,
We get the hump--
Cameelious hump--
The hump that is black and blue!

Wayne climbs out of bed with a frouzly head
And a snarly-yarly voice.
He shivers and scowls and he grunts and he growls
at the injustices done to his boys;

And there ought to be a corner for me
(And I know there is one for you)
When we get the hump--
Cameelious hump--
The hump that is black and blue!

The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
Or frowst with a book by the fire;
But to take a large hoe and a shovel also,
and bury the sarries in mire;

And then you will find that the sun and the wind.
And the Djinn of the Gardens too,
Have lifted the hump--
The horrible hump--
The hump that is black and blue!

I get it as well as you-oo-oo--
If I lose a cup at HQ--
We all get hump--
Cameelious hump--
So we’ll gesmudgerate sarries - woohoo!

By Marlowes.

None of my own work!

Defeat
No one is beat till he quits,
No one is through till he stops,
No matter how hard Failure hits,
No matter how often he drops,
A fellow's not down till he lies
In the dust and refuses to rise.
Fate can slam him and bang him around,
And batter his frame till he's sore,
But she never can say that he's downed
While he bobs up serenely for more.
A fellow's not dead till he dies,
Nor beat till no longer he tries.

-- Edgar Guest

SURVIVOR

Everyday,
I think about dying
About disease, starvation,
violence, terrorism, war,
the end of the world.

It helps
keep my mind off things.

By Roger McGough posted on the board by Ben Dover

The Ref!
Oh, me name is Steven Lander, and I'm a ref thats Really Grand
Although we're few in numbers, we're the finest in the land
I ref at all the Matches with the funny oval ball
And when I ref the finals, its the greatest time of all

Oh, the backs go bang and the heads do clang and the hookers they hack away
I dont really care what goes on down there while I the whistle do play
And the forearm Smash and the kidney bash and my profile is somethin' grand
A credit to the RFU is Steven Lander's band

Right now I am rehearsin' for a very swell affair
The annual Zipee Play-offs, all the gentry will be there
When Stuart Barnes to Twickers came he took me by the hand
Says he, "I never saw the likes of Stephen Lander's Band"

Oh, the scrums go down and the half's creep round and the touch judge runs away
The Reflink's on, my sight has gone while I the whistle do play
And the Offside Law can go out the door, me voice is somethin' grand
A credit to the RFU is Steven Lander's band

Oh, my name is Tony Spreaders and to the Gardens I did come
To play with Stephen Lander's Band and join in all the fun
But when I went back home again I knew he should be banned
No credit to the RFU is Steven Lander's band

Oh, I wear a Reflink microphone and a uniform of green
And I'm the Finest lookin' Ref that you have ever seen
There is Spreaders, Rowden, Cousins and Hughes, they come from o'er the Land
But they are all of sound mind, They think I should be banned.

Oh, the backs go bang and the heads do clang and the hookers they hack away
I dont really care what goes on down there while I the whistle do play
And the forearm Smash and the kindney bash and my profile is somethin' grand
A credit to the RFU is Steven Lander's band

That's Lander

In the Old Bazaar in Watford.

Few cheers, warm beers, camels with a hump
Kyran Bracken, proper little chump
Dancing Girlies, some a little plump
In the old bazaar in Watford

Silly, Hilly, Pizza now on sale
Small crowd, not loud, drinking horrid ale
Timmy Horan looking rather pale
In the old bazaar in Watford

You can buy most anything,
Tin horns, rattles, and Sarry coloured string,
You can purchase anything you wish,
A shirt, a Fez and something for your Auntie Nellie,
DJ, Nigel Wray, what d'ya think of that,
Russell, tussle, in the eye GERSPLATT!,
Half time contests, that's enough of that,
In the old bazaar in Watford.

Abdel Benazzi getting very old
Lower Rous stand getting bloody cold
Stale cheese sarnies covered up with mould
In the old bazaar in Watford

Ruby Murray can be very hot
You want, tickets we've still got a lot
Seems this season they have lost the plot
In the old bazaar in Watford

You can buy most anything,
Castanets, a little bell to ring,
You can buy a roll of cellotape,
A foul hot dog that's surely made from camel testes
Satdee, Matt D, 'll lead a merry dance
Poor old Sarries he'll leave in a trance
No point coming co's you don't stand a chance
From the old bazaar in Watford.


WMS


Ballagher tries his hand!!!!!

Scrap the castle. Of course it's a submarine.

Altogether now:

Chorus
We all live in a yellow submarine,
Don't know where we have been,
But don't with praise be mean.
And we follow the Gold, Black and Green,
The team who reign supreme,
The best you've ever seen.

Verse 1
Once we lived, across the way,
Why we stayed there, now, is hard to say.
Landlord said, we should be gone,
We won't miss him much, for very long.

Repeat chorus:

Verse 2
As you see, from time to time,
We are minded to, break into rhyme.
But when we're where, we along belong,
We as one always, break into song.

And again, (Repeat chorus):

Verse 3
Chris and Rich, as Mum and Dad,
Try to stop us all, going mad,
WMS supplies the verse,
Now with this as well, it's getting worse.

Repeat chorus:

Verse 4
And our friends, are all aboard,
Hope the Irish ones, move next door.
As the band begins to play... P-pa-p-Pah.
Ta-ra-ra Umpah-Umpah-Pah.

Repeat chorus:

Verse 5
Eye to eye, we don't all see,
EG Dawson's not my cup of tea.
But we share, one common dream,
Shouting for the Gold, and Black and Green.

Altogether and ... Repeat chorus (till you are bashed on the head with a blunt instrument).


The newly named St. Marlowe

With apologies to the State of Kansas, whose song this was!

Oh, give me a home, where the union'ers roam,
Where the Saints and the Irish Folk play,
Where seldom is heard a disparaging word,
And the rugby chat goes on all day.

Chorus

Where the views are so pure, the insults so free,
The banter gives way to a fight,
That I would not regret my home on the net
For all the rivals so bright.

Chorus

Oh, give me a land where Licefester are banned
And the Quins melt away like ice-cream;
Where Bernie the Hound makes free in the ground
And Smudgers boys play like a dream.

Chorus

The Cherry's were pressed back home to the West,
Likly no more to return
From the banks of the River where seldom if ever
An offer of pints they'll spurn

Chorus

How often at night when the Gardens are bright
With the light of the Saints all-stars,
Have I sat here half soused and asked as I browsed
Could Franklin's have any more bars?

Chorus

Oh, I love these supporters in this our headquarters;
Rob Andrews I love to hear scream;
And I love the banter and KB as Santa
And ever the Black Gold and Green.

Chorus

I will never forget my home on the net,
Where the Saints and the Irish Folk play,
Where seldom is heard a disparaging word,
And the rugby chat goes on all day.

COME ON YOU SAINTS

St_Marlowe