- Joined
- Jun 11, 2007
- Posts
- 24,424
- Reaction score
- 25,866
- Location
- pondering the view from Tartarus
- AFL Club
- Geelong
Picture this, a clear blue sky
So far from winter's storm
Away from last years finals too
and the bow-out they still mourn
See the Hawk that swoops and rears
and flies tireless all summer
But wait till hunting season nears
and then it's, 'What a bummer!'
For ever since the Batmobile,
they haven't lined the nest
A strand or two, just two night cups
is what their cabinet will attest
But they've got stars, yeah they've got champs
that did the summertime hard yardage
Yet sit and wait a spell, you'll see
the Hawks still play like garbage
A smattering of brilliant play
but just a little bit
For you see these Hawks are merely flies
their playbook's fresh-laid shit
They buzz and buzz and cluster round
while Clarkson gives the word
They'll maybe scrape some way to win
but too often find a t*rd
But Clarkson's got the knack of
somehow treading water
Cast thy mind back to the days of Schwab
and of never-ending slaughter
One preseason they asked for Premiers
and Schwabby took a bow
Back then they were a laughing stock
much more than they are now
It didn't matter who they played
they copped a bloody hiding
The Tiges, the Dees and Blues all drove
that hearse the Hawks were riding
When Schwabby made that fateful call
we knew of Hawthorn's 'class'
it served to hold a world in thrall
to see a man speak through his arse
Now further back in days and years
to head coach Kenny Judge
A man at least as used to loss
as Molly Meldrum, packing fudge
He went on to coach the Eagles
and shredded that proud club as well
but still they didn't take four years
to tell him 'Go to Hell!'
Rolling back the years still more
we land at Peter Knights
his tenure at... ngh, um... snore
z..z...z
...
...
Well bugger me, I'm f*cking bored
writing Hawthorn poetry's a bitch
It's time to dig ourselves a shallow grave
and lay a body in the ditch
So climb aboard the Hawthorn hearse
pull out that weathered coffin
Don't you get so worried now
they die like this quite often!
Let's lift the lid and take a peek
a quick one there, quite cursory
now let's just nail this bastard shut
for the the Hawker's 6000 anniversary!
Yes six thousand days, it's oh so long
since Hawthorn's last day Cup
You'd think that such a record would ensure
that they'd humbly just shut up!
But yap yap yap they do go on
like this poem but only worse
So now I fear I must go on
and write my final verse
So dear Bigfooty Hawthorn fans,
they who mediocrity don't faze
from us to you (in piss and poo)
wishing ANOTHER 6000 fun-filled days!
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY HAWTHORN!!!!!!!!!!!
So far from winter's storm
Away from last years finals too
and the bow-out they still mourn
See the Hawk that swoops and rears
and flies tireless all summer
But wait till hunting season nears
and then it's, 'What a bummer!'
For ever since the Batmobile,
they haven't lined the nest
A strand or two, just two night cups
is what their cabinet will attest
But they've got stars, yeah they've got champs
that did the summertime hard yardage
Yet sit and wait a spell, you'll see
the Hawks still play like garbage
A smattering of brilliant play
but just a little bit
For you see these Hawks are merely flies
their playbook's fresh-laid shit
They buzz and buzz and cluster round
while Clarkson gives the word
They'll maybe scrape some way to win
but too often find a t*rd
But Clarkson's got the knack of
somehow treading water
Cast thy mind back to the days of Schwab
and of never-ending slaughter
One preseason they asked for Premiers
and Schwabby took a bow
Back then they were a laughing stock
much more than they are now
It didn't matter who they played
they copped a bloody hiding
The Tiges, the Dees and Blues all drove
that hearse the Hawks were riding
When Schwabby made that fateful call
we knew of Hawthorn's 'class'
it served to hold a world in thrall
to see a man speak through his arse
Now further back in days and years
to head coach Kenny Judge
A man at least as used to loss
as Molly Meldrum, packing fudge
He went on to coach the Eagles
and shredded that proud club as well
but still they didn't take four years
to tell him 'Go to Hell!'
Rolling back the years still more
we land at Peter Knights
his tenure at... ngh, um... snore
z..z...z
...
...
Well bugger me, I'm f*cking bored
writing Hawthorn poetry's a bitch
It's time to dig ourselves a shallow grave
and lay a body in the ditch
So climb aboard the Hawthorn hearse
pull out that weathered coffin
Don't you get so worried now
they die like this quite often!
Let's lift the lid and take a peek
a quick one there, quite cursory
now let's just nail this bastard shut
for the the Hawker's 6000 anniversary!
Yes six thousand days, it's oh so long
since Hawthorn's last day Cup
You'd think that such a record would ensure
that they'd humbly just shut up!
But yap yap yap they do go on
like this poem but only worse
So now I fear I must go on
and write my final verse
So dear Bigfooty Hawthorn fans,
they who mediocrity don't faze
from us to you (in piss and poo)
wishing ANOTHER 6000 fun-filled days!
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY HAWTHORN!!!!!!!!!!!
I'll edit it for accuracy
Membership tally says differently.. your troll was bad.
