This weeks collection from the COYSDC lyricists

oh when the...
By The COYSDC Poets
September 21 2002

Their like the enchanted brooms in Disney's Fantasia pouring more and more poems onto the COYSDC message board. Some say that the peasants are revolting and trying to take the dethrone West Midlands Saint, the King of the board bards. His last is a cracker. I don't think the crown has slipped yet!!!

WMS
As a lad, I remember it vivid
We'd go with me Dad to the sea
But wi' my kids it's turned out quite different
Each weekend it's Rugby for me.

Last season I pulled quite a flanker
Some would say it was 'a peach'
I told them to jump in the motor
And I'd give 'em a day at the beach.

We got on the M5 quite early
Avoiding Bank Holiday jams
And travelled South West toward Bristol
The kids, unaware of the scam.

The buckets and spades were all loaded
The swimming trunks and lots of towels
There was only one stop on the journey
For the young 'un to empty his bowels.

We arrived at the mouth of the Avon
The kids gave a right squeal of glee
As they looked past the chemical fact'ries
And caught a first glimpse of the sea.

"But the sea's surely that way" they shouted
As we pulled off at junction 19
I told them to "Hush and don't worry"
And managed to stave off a scene.

We parked in a street near the stadium
The Memorial is its right name
And marched through the turnstiles quite loaded
Inappropriately for the game

We laid out our towels in the sunshine
And the crowd could all hear my lads shout.
"Oh Daddy the beach is so lovely
What a shame that the bloody tide's out"


St.Marlowe
With apologies to the Pet Shop Boys

Go West
Come on, come on, come on, come on

(Together) We will lead the way
(Together) We will have our say
(Together) with our team so grand
(Together) We'll execute our plans

(Together) Saints will fly so high
(Together) Tell Shoguns goodbye
(Together) We'll show them what to do
(Together) This is what we'll do

(Go West) For the points are there
(Go West) In the open air
(Go West) Where 5 points will do
(Go West) This is what we're gonna do

(Go West, win is what we're gonna do, Go West)

(Together) We will love the beach
(Together) Saints will win and teach
(Together) Give them a real hard life
(Together) Saints will work and strive

(Go West) For the points are there
(Go West) In the open air
(Go West) Ripol will be running free
(Go West) This is our destiny

(Go West) Sun in wintertime
(Go West) We will win just fine
(Go West) Where Briz will be blue
(Go West, this is what we're gonna do)

There where the air is free
We'll be (We'll be) high up the Zippee
Now if we make a stand
We'll find (We'll find) our promised land

(I know that) There are many ways
(To win there) In the sun or shade
(Together) We will find the pace
(At the Mem) Where there's so much space

(Its great) We are from the east
(The hustling) Bustling Saintly feet
(I know we're) Ready to win too
(So that's what) We are gonna do

(What we're gonna do is
(Go West) For the points are there
(Go West) In the open air
(Go West) Ripol will be running free
(Go West) This is our destiny



Binary Bob
Where Piggy's patch and tunnels meet
The Saints are missing the odd seat
So those that had planned
To sit and not stand
Are stuffed by a strange design feat

But Saturday still had a big crowd
And one Father particularly proud
For his number one son
On the pitch did run
With cheers so tremendously loud

Our special import was from Spain
And commenced his very own reign
With runs from the wing
That made us all sing
Senior Ripol, Try, Try again

For history was to be repeated
Those Birdies again defeated
And of one accord
We rose to applaud
So all were stood, not seated

The Gardens now has to be rated
As a stadium that's loved, not hated
But I put it to you
There's one thing to do
The Sturtridge looks pretty well dated!

With Smudger in charge all is well
And thousands of seats we can sell
With Reihana or not
I think we have got
A team that can give others hell

Things still need sorting out
Before our boys have the clout
To be very bossy
on the Pooh Corner possy
But one day we will, I've no doubt

So to each game raise that beer
And please promise to cheer
To friendship and chat
'bout this and then that
As COYS opinions we all hear

The game at Bristol is on hand
And with our travelling band
The day will be made
With bucket and spade
As our boys dig out of the sand

So here's to victory in the far West
The Saint's more gritty than the rest
For what we all know
As to the desert we go
The Green, Black and Gold is best.

Noddy
She didn't go to Leeds,
She didn't go to Sale,
So everybody pleads,
Refuse the urge to inhale.

Your postings are insane,
On Saints site your a pest,
Leave us or be maim, (ed)
It really would be best.

Your fingers should be chopped,
I've nearly had enough,
So Zara must be stopped,
From typing so much guff!

St. Marlowe
Oh dear, what can the matterbe
Bath's 2nd row is not what it useterbe
Borthwicks out, and Grewcock and Cattlebe
Missing from Saturday's fair

St. Marlowe
The Posters are meeting on Saturday
To Heroes they'll all wend their way
And after the beers
and compulsory jeers
We'll go watch todays Heroes play

Now Chris and Rich, whats all this?
To bring us together, what bliss!
We'll all be confused
As our handles are used
And our real names are given a miss

Let's hope that we get some good weather
To put faces and handles together
Is smurfo all blue?
Does Connect carry glue?
Is OldPete at the end of his tether?

Is that young Sall in the gown?
I'm sure that our Lom will dress down
Wellsaint giving the odds
To those Licefester bods
While broonie sits wearing a fown

And what about that ZaraD?
Confused? She seems to be
A Jimmie at heart,
but she can't be that smart
A Northampton lass, following PC?

Will Carlos be wearing his hat?
Will Swill be showing off Cat?
Will shaddo be hurt
cos he aint got a shirt
St Marlowe's excessively fat!

Will our West Midlands Bard be on song?
Will ajack wear gymslip and thong?
Will our non Saintly friends
Come to Jimmies end
and join in the bibulous throng

This anonymous board lets us hide
behind a name that we use with great pride
But at Heroes this week
We'll arrive at the peak -
Good companionship - and a GREAT SIDE

Binary Bob
When rhyming words seem out of reach
Ouselves and each other we must teach
For 'tis often said
Kills all germs dead
It can only be our very own Bleach!

St Marlowe
Now drinks are courtesy Bleach
Though he's put his fags out of his reach
And he'll drink orange juice
till his visage turns puce
but his fitness regime is a peach

And over there waits old Stockers
He take exception to LI's Sprinbokkers
and Glue pots and things
And his wit always brings
The worst out in all of his "knockers"

St. Marlowe
Hello Mr Witherspoon
Your'e welcome to "set yesel' doon"
With a Knife and a fork
and join in the talk
and maybe just give us a tune

Maverick
Is handling the problem?
Which is why we need the gloves
Are our poets getting feisty?
Like crabby turtle doves

Was the Florist showing fashion?
Or just arshing aound
Just being a little stupid?
Or actually profound

Are there many Saintly poets?
Do you think, just two or three?
There are many, I can tell you
And one of them is me.....

WMS – The daddy of them all
My dear old Bleach you musn't fret
Your theory's quite absurd
Us Saintly poets don't compete
To get the final word.

Way back, our number started small
But soon we grew and grew
Soon everyone will jot down odes
Who knows we might get you?

And if you don't believe me,
In your mind there lingers doubt
Just visit Heroes Bar on Sat
And there you'll soon find out.

For while the boozers sup their ale
You'll hear the scratch of quills
Back there in 'Poet's Corner'
We'll be practising our skills.

There may even be recitals
'Cos St Marlowes, Binary Bob
Maverick and the rest of us
Are cunning linguists, on the job.

St. Marlowe
Four and twenty poets
Arrived at Heroes bar
And when the meet was over
Most had supped a jar

Singing - Pooh to Licefester
lets all sledge the ref
The Poets of the Saintly ones
will sing until he's deaf

WMS was there
quill pen in his hand
and when the meet was over
he could hardly even stand

Singing.

Mav came in through the door
poems to the fore
but when the crowd had gone away
we found him on the floor

Singing

Binarary Bob was sitting down
giving lessons to the throng
we all knew just what that meant
Sall won't get it wrong

Singing...

St Marlowe staggered in at last
beer all down his front
"Ive been watching Bath in awe
of Ripols cunning stunt"

Singing

The Poets then all left the bar
to sit in the Tetley Stand
They vowed they'd meet again next year
The best in all the Land

Singing- Pooh to Licefester
lets all sledge the ref
The Poets of the Saintly ones
will sing until you're deaf

Smurfomatic
JETSCO Transport:
We transport young and old, in black, green and gold,
We send you there and back, in gold, green and black,
You don't know where we've been, in black, gold and green

Clare (and her accidental poem!)
As I walk through the stadium,
I reach the village,
This village usually full of dirty but pleasant builders porta-cabins, machinery and piles of old stand,
This afternoon it was like seeing a slight part of Saints history,
As I watched the last lorry load of old stand to be emptied out,
Our old village once filled with the old,
Looking forward to the future of the new,
Everything ready for sat,
Out with the memories of the past all but that small run down old shed known as the crooked hooker,
A new village for a new future of Northampton Saints

WMS
I'm proud of Franklin's Gardens
Now they've finished Church's Stand
The sight, when all the seats are full,
The finest in the land.

To other teams, as they run out
It cannot seem quite fair
The noise that's raised, the spectacle
Is just beyond compare.

Oh sure, Pooh Corner's bigger
But it's Crumbly and it's damp
So no-one in their proper mind
Would call it "Home of Champs"

Oop North there's tiny Heywood Road,
At least they've got good gutters
But now they play on Friday night
'slike that hole of old Calcutta's.

At Kingsholm they have got their Shed
Of which they're rightly proud
But let's be honest 'bout this chaps
We're equally as loud.

Down at Barf, ambition's rife
But now they've had a hitch
They cannot build, it seems they're stuck
With a council owned Park pitch.

There's four top teams who sadly have
No home to call their own.
They once had land but took the cash
And now the chance they've blown.

There's Sarries down at Watford:
A poor ramshackle place
The beer is warm, the food's too dear
And DJ's in your face.

The Oirish home, a big, blue hole
With little atmosphere
'Cos so few fans, so sparsely sat
Can hardly raise a cheer.

The Pest's new home, I cannot say
I've yet to visit Adams.
But Wycombe fans on message boards
Are stroppy little madams.

It seems they are not happy
To host the greatest game
They're worried, when Saints come to town
We'll put their crowd to shame.

The groundsman down at Bristol
Bought some seed to grow new grass
Last year no-one would go to ground
'Cos sand got up their ar*e.

The stands down there are monstrous
The Centen'ry, over size
But one thing they've got going is
They do have lovely pies.

The Quins have tried to get it right
By building lots of bars
But when the game has started
All you hear is honking cars.

At Headingly they're real nice folk
That drag you into pubs
I must admit I like the place
A reet good Rugby Club.

The Falcons? They're rebuilding.
They want to emulate
The sincerest form of flattery,
A small Gardens they'll create.

'Cos air new ground is beautiful
It cannot be denied
Though many folk accuse me
Of being too one eyed.

But the work will NEVER finish
If you want to know the troof
'Cos every time the boys run out
We'll raise the bloomi'n roof.