I met a man out on the
street, he was dressed in bright maroon
I said to him in my nicest
voice, “got something else you can wear home?”
He snickered at me in that
way that only a Queenslander could do
But what’s better than
beating Queensland? It’s beating them by two
A bloody rugged game it was,
a majestic spectacle to behold
The boys were playing for
sheep stations, or perhaps the green and gold
But more than that I’m
thinking now, they were playing just for pride
And when the eighty minutes
ran out, their emotions they could not hide
I could rant and rave of how
I feel about Hodges and Smith and Slater
But if I did I might not end
this rhyme, until a time much later
Suffice to say I respect
their skills, but for spirit they leave me short
When they were playing under
tens, fair play was not taught
Some bloke in the paper wrote
an article so true
As last we won and broke the
streak, we showed we are true blue
Just as dawn it comes again,
and as the sun down it does go
No-one ever will beat New
South Wales, nine times in a row
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