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A Bluebagger’s soul cries out!
I want Houla to run so many lines
We won’t need no Kouta Ruler,
I want Lance to shed his tailor man eyes
And play just like he used ta,
Don’t want any goddamn Pagan despisers,
Don’t want him to give them excuses,
Want to see Livo and T-Bird
Shine so brightly Saddo will look new
And Murphy to kick a goal or two
While Tex goes on the prowl;
I want to roar, I want to howl
I want that Goddamn 17th
And I want it now!
I am sick to the stomach
of the misery-guts forlorn-ers,
the finger wagers, the arse lickers,
the ‘tell it like it is’ day trippers,
I just want to watch that oval ball
More often that not
Sail through our @#$%&! goals!
We’ve all lost the plot and stagger around
Poor little black clad Hamlets
With the skulls of all the long dead champions;
Alas poor SOS I knew him well
And now he is gone but how I wait
For his son to rise our spirits again
But for now I am happy just to gaze upon
A Fisher special grab or a robust Irishman
Or two, hell give me three shots of Simmo
And a smashing of AB, give me Cory!
Give me the jumper and forget who
Turned their history into dishwater regret
All good things come to those who trait.
So give me a another season
But not a series of hellish cries
For more losses than a battlefield,
I want no more monkish whiplash,
No more floggings or chants of losses
Just good old fashion football
Kicks and marks and wins, @#$%&! the losses!
The time has come, the summer’s
Spent the daisies and the trees
Tire of holding too close their leaves
Soon the leather will sail again
And I’ll be standing somewhere crowded,
A beer, a pie and a voice
Lost in the ocean of bluebagger hopes.
I’ll be screaming and shaking and stamping
But not without hope for what set
Must surely rise again
And if I believe long and hard enough
I’ll find that navy blue sunshine again!
So who’ll stand with me!
Who climb up high, teeter
On the balustrade of another season?
Risk all their heart and mind
For another chance at bragging rights?
Forget your St Kilda’s they will never
Understand this ride,
Ignore your collywobbles,
They’re just another Frankenstein bride,
Campo and the bombers,
Bloodsuckers , vampires, shitheads
The whole damn lost of ‘em,
Only we stand pure and clean,
Shit for some seasons now
But emerging, young, fresh
And always the team
That carries my hope and pride!
Go Bluebaggers
@#$%&! everything else!
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This type of slight is alien in the more cultured part of the world - Walsh. Its up there with mad dogs, Englishmen and the midday sun!
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