King Willow

Saturday and Sunday every week
On every village Green
We play this game of skill, and luck
It's the finest ever seen

The runs come slow and wickets fast
Until we play our strokes
We'll cart 'em, tonk 'em, push and prod
And mow 'em, with cow shots and pokes

We've Smacker Smith and Basher Barnes
To show their every skill
We've wild long Billy to hurl 'em down
And bump 'em off the hill

He'll shout and scream and yell "HOWZAT!"
With every other ball
And when the Umpire says NOT OUT
Ther'll be sneers for one and all

But when we start with the local ale
With all animosity gone
We'll raise our elbows one and all
To the glorious days to come

The days of sunshine, or rain stop play
When we dream of greater things
The dream of playing one day at Lords
Where the Willow, and the Tavern, are Kings