| They’re gathering at Cloffocks
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| In the late afternoon
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| Testosterone in T shirts
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| The game’s beginning soon
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| An ancient war-like struggle
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| For the Park or harbour wall
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| The Uppies and the Downies
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| Wage a battle for the ball
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| Hail, hail the ball
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| Hail the barbarians
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| Running along the Harbour Wall
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| The ball is up, they’re in the beck
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| The scrum is hard and tight
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| The ball flies out away they run
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| The beat the failing light
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| They’re ploughing up the cricket pitch
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| And allotments of the town
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| Stand back, stand back, bystander
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| Or the scrum will run you down
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| Laughing, pushing flexing style
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| Dark determined eyes
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| Thousands crowd the high-ground
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| Murmuring asides
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| They think the ball is the pack
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| In the blood and muck and dirt
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| But there are no rules in this game
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| It’s stuffed up Millican’s shirt |