It’s the game with tackles flying in
Where the rules are by the by
A swollen ankle, busted shin
Who knows, a darkened eye?
They’ve waited all year long for this
Revenge will taste so sweet
A Stepney hug or Glasgow kiss
Who cares which team gets beat?
On the playing fields of England
Where fairness rules we’re told
Will this mingling of boys and men
Cause mayhem to unfold?
At a corner kick will a rabbit punch
Cause sir to catch his breathe
Will a pupil in a tackle crunch
Like a grown up man possesed?
This ain’t no Brian Glover*
This ain’t no sir’s the star
They’re used to playing rugger
Plus they’re bigger than we are
When half time comes
And teams turn round
Will tempers rise like tide
As dads and mums
At side of ground
Insult, laugh at, deride
As teachers get to grips with game
To show off silky skill
Will pupils get out zimmer frames
Suggesting “Sir’s over the hill”
When A and E be on alert
Will St John save the day
Will claret be on every shirt
After ninety minutes play?
When the whistle blows to end the play
And the hurt lie on the grass
Will the kids be strong and win the day
In the pupils versus staff?