There's a green that you find on a Wallaby’s shirt,
With it's various faded, and various dirt,
-And the overlaid gold of the wattle tree,
-And “Australia Fair” sung almost in key,
-And the mem-ries flow back to my wonky knee,
-(And the barroom throws flack at the wonky TV)
And my senses on special alert !!
But I doubt a non-Aussie ' d be able to see
The passion to what I referred.
And the same thing happens for English teams,
When the red rose blooms and they dream their dreams,
-And no quarters asked and no quarters given,
-And the teams and the fans find their “reason for livin”
-When the six backs line up in seventh Heaven,
-(and the six packs line up from Dover and Devon)
And Life is much more than it seems.
And the flags are hoisted like madmen – Driven to
Swinging sweet chariot screams.
And the Kiwi’s black magic it runs in their blood,
Like the silver fern in the South Island mud,
-And the black from the depths of their pupilled eyes,
-And the warpaint pitch, and the warrior cries, -
-And the haka-filled nostils like apple pies
-(I don’t mean in content, I mean in size)
and their teeth, full tattooed by stud.
But the point I would make is the fans all rise
When the AllBlack and Visitors “thudd-d”.
For the team is worth more than the sum of the parts,
And there’s something remains when the team departs,
-And the fans dream their dreams in colours that burn,
-And they sleep in their graves with their flag and their urn,
-And they’ll be the same when next life they return,
-(Green and gold, or red rose, or silver fern)
Cos the colours are seen with their hearts;
“Just a colour you say? an excuse to play?”
Nuh - it’s where a REAL life starts.