And his words so poetically paint
By West Mids Saint
April 26 2002
An ode for Ajack
Poor ajack's having a problem
He's been told that he needs a new bath
So lots of the boys have advised him
Tried to put the lad on the right path.
You see this bath's gone out of fashion
It's that horrible yellow I think
And I'm told that this year's 'in' colours
Are really like blue and black ink.
Now some of you think to discard it
Would be an utter disgrace
But there's blokes in the south end of Yorkshire
Who are getting quite red in the face.
See they can supply a new model
They say its top quality gear
And it's not just an overnight wonder
But is sure to last year after year.
They've called in a group of consultants
To verify all of their claims
They say that their firm's got a future
Like that real blue chip outfit St. James
So I think we should make a decision
That this poor old bath we'll condemn
And on Saturday we can help smash it
By knocking them out of the prem
The rocky road to Bath
Sitting here last Sunday night
All cosy by the hearth
I said to Mrs West Mids Saint
"Do you fancy a trip to Bath?"
"After all, it is your birthday
And you deserve a treat
And there's lots of lovely shops there
And a hundred small, quaint streets."
She eyed me with suspicion
She'd twigged my little game
"I suppose you think I'm stupid
Bloody Saints have got a game!"
Despite her grave misgiving
She could see that I was bent
On a trip to see the Jimmies
And so she did relent.
But I cannot be so smug, you see
My plan, it has gone wrong
'Cos Mrs West Mids Saint my friends
Now wants to come along.
She'll not come to the Rugby
Or join me in a jar.
No what the wife has planned for me
Is more terrible by far.
I'll have to buy her lunch now
And no matter how I try
She'll have to go off shopping
And bleed my plastic dry.
So fellow Saints please spare a thought
For your less than fortunate chum
And if you make it to the match
I'm the one who's looking glum
Just talk to me and cheer me up
And I'll have no complaint
'Cos as long as Saints are winning
Though things seem bad, they ain't.
Be prepared
If over the next week or two
A posting seems funny to you
It'll be an imposter
Popped over from Gloucester
So don't get yourself in a stew.
RichJoesDad has been flexing his rod
And when he gives us Saints the nod
We'll be on the attack
Get those Gloucester boys back
No Saints fishing? - that'd really be odd.
Change of name?
Those clowns at the RFU
Just don't care about me or 'bout you
So few tickets for us
Makes me just want to cuss
They should just use two letters - F. U
For Saint Colin
It appears that we've got a new mate
And to judge by his postings to date
Saint Colin's alright
He'll be good for this site
I'm sure we'll all get along great.
For Rich
For months now I've detailed in verse
Every topic so wide and diverse
How could I forget?
Let me show my regret
With an ode to our very own nurse.
RichJoesDad posts here all of the time
His efforts now lauded in rhyme
If not there to assist
Chris at Saints he'd be missed
To neglect him is surely a crime.
So apologies my Saintly mate
And the record - let me put straight
'Cos Rich, Dad of Joe
How we feel - you must know
Keep it up, 'cos we all think you're great
Binary Bob Tries His Hand
The Poet Laureate he ain't
But his words so poetically paint
A story oft' told
Of Green, Black and Gold
Three cheers for the West Mids Saint
That's Amore
To the tune of the old Dean Martin classic - 'That's Amore'
When MJ makes your eye
Like a bigga Pizza pie
Tha's a-Rugby!
When your old baldy-patch
Is replaced by new thatch
Tha's a-Rugby!
(Chorus)
England play, Woody Woody's way, Woody Woody's way
We all say "Vita bella"
There's no Slam, bugger bugger damn, bugger bugger damn
"Clive's a jolly fine fella"
When that Saintly boy Ben
Scores again and again
Tha's a-Rugby!
When Wall starts to throw in
Like a man drunk on gin
We all gaze to the stars!
When Saints play like a dream but you know you're not
Dreaming Signore!
Scuzza me, but you see, our friend Smudge found the key
Tha's a-Rugby!
A Song for Jorgy
How about this?
Oh there once was a centre, came and joined the Jimmy boys
Under the shade of the new Tetley
And he sang as he tried to change his game to Union
Who'll come a waltzing a-Jorgy with me
Chorus
Waltzing a-Jorgy Waltzing a-Jorgy
Who'll come a waltzing a-Jorgy with me?
He looked tired, he looked slow
But he persevered, our Aussie boy
Who'll come a waltzing a-Jorgy with me?
Along came a Smudger and asked JL to play more flat
This total new game plan was grabbed with glee
Jorgy sang as he started to take the ball in front of him
"You'll come a waltzing a-Jorgy with me"
Chorus
Jorgy started scoring, he'd turned into a thoroughbred
Beating defenders one two three
And Block C fell in love with the Oz in our three quarter line
You'll come a waltzing a-Jorgy with me
Chorus
As that Bushman got better and slowly grew in confidence
He tackled and floored the best in the Zippee
And he'll be a legend as his name goes down in history
Singing "Who'll come a waltzing a-Jorgy with me?"
Waltzing a-Jorgy Waltzing a-Jorgy
Who'll come a waltzing a-Jorgy with me?
He's not tired, he's not slow
And the Garden's love our Aussie boy
Who'll come a waltzing a-Jorgy with me?
One Eyed?
From King Lear:
Messenger: O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead:
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloucester.
So that's where it got to.
The Glaws perspective?
I'm gonna jump on me tractor
and get on the M4
And set out for Northampton
To see what they've in store.
I year they've built noo sheds there
But it's mostly sitting down
Though I yope they've left some standin'
In that charmin' Rugby groun'
They loike a bit of banter
They're a bunch o' roight young wags
But we all get along with 'em
As long as they share their fags.
They all drink funny black stuff
But too much makes 'em grumpy
I think they'd all fare better
If they went and stuck to scrumpy.
But they do play quite good rugby
An I s'pose we're quite good mates
It's always a trip to look forward to
Up to the Gardens gates
But this week's match is special
And we'd best not stir 'em up
'Cos next they've got the Oirish
In the final of the cup.
They don't want any injuries
For their rather special day
So we'd better take it easy
Well - they'd beat us anyway.
They've employed this Noo Zealander
Whose taught 'em tricks and ploys
They've learned so much - They're much too good
For a bunch of tractor boys.
The Shakespeare Bit
King Henry VI, part I
BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER: Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head;
For I intend to have it ere long.
There you go Rich
I don't advocate retaliation but watch those little, individual tussles tomorrow.
So this week it's Glawster at home
And a few to the Gardens might roam
But we think, for the best
You should stay in the west
And spend your time ploughing the loam.
On last We'n'day's trip Glaws were stung
And travelled back home with heads hung
But just check on their site
They can get nothing right
'Cos even the ref's name was wrung.
Now it seems that everyone knows
That with insects those Glaws came to blows
If they try that tomorrow
They'll find, to their horror
The Jimmies are not such soft foes.
'Cos September the Jimmies saw red
Though they might have forgot' in the shed
That 'Junior' man
Straight at Andy B ran
And bloody near took off his head.
So tomorrow might not be so pretty
Though we all love that west country city
'Cos I'll bet you tuppence
Tomorrow's "Cum-Uppance"
With that I shall now end my ditty.
COME ON YOU SAINTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!