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The refs are up in arms about the criticisms,
They’re threatening that they’ll throw in the towel.
They do not see the humour in our witticisms,
So now they’re standing firm and crying foul.
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They’re going to blow the whistle on dissension,
Searching for a new and brighter path.
They’re calling time on oral contravention,
And they’ll send protesters for an early bath.
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They claim that they will boycott Irish matches,
The men in black will black the national league.
They feel that they’re ignored in all despatches,
And the situation’s causing them fatigue.
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We’ll cheer them even when they make a howler,
Even when they cost us vital games,
And when they just ignore a constant fouler,
No more will we call them dreadful names.
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We’ll celebrate their frailty and weakness,
Embrace their bad decisions with good grace,
Approach them with timidity and weakness,
And never say a word that’s out of place.