The whistle blew to start the game,
It also started war,
The Beaches Boys were on the go,
Like never seen before.
From go to woe they powered on,
Relentless in their task,
When will they ever slow the pace,
The crowd was heard to ask.
They had a mighty forward pack,
They weighed about a tonne,
They rucked an mauled and tackled too,
There job was never done.
Besides the beef and ugly heads,
They had a set of backs,
And when they threw the ball around,
They slayed em’ in their tracks.
Battlescarred and weary legged,
They continued on their way,
And every time there was a chance,
They made their opponents pay.
And now the game is over,
The final whistle blown,
You’ll find them at the Mattara,
With a splashing of Cologne.
Stories will be getting told,
Wilder as they go,
But when the Bundy starts to fly,
The bullshit starts to flow.
And as “last drinks” is called out loud,
One thing is sure to stay,
The Beaches Boys are off to town,
Its been one hell of a day.