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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required For Ian Diddams and my Dad So what’s the crack with rugby? My father used to play He’d come home with an injury Every other day My mother used to worry He was quite deaf to her fears Her futile protestations fell On cauliflower ears Oh so many broken bones As trophies he would wear Those would be the only times I heard my mother swear My father didn’t drink much He didn’t do the pub But he’d sink some with the other lads In the rugby club He had a book of rugby songs Some of them were crude Dinah, Dinah show us yer leg And other ones more rude A weird way to learn about Sex and funny stuff Sex Ed in the seventies Was really pretty rough Now I watch a rugby game And find the blokes quite hot Got to love a massive thigh And firmly muscled bott Oh how they thunder up the pitch And grunt and sweat and shout Got to love testosterone It’s what it’s all about Never mind the odd shaped ball Shape doesn’t make me frown It’s how they chuck the thing that counts And how they smack it down The scrum’s a thing to marvel at A tad homo erotic What if someone breaks their neck Not sport for the neurotic And then there’s the line dancing And shouting things in code Like massive noisy warriors With faces streaked with woad Not partial to the gumshields I suppose they save the grief Of ruining a toothpaste smile And choking on the teeth The thing I don’t quite understand Is how they pass the ball What’s the crack with backwards? I don’t get that at all I’m a girl who loves a tryer It’s hardly a perversion It just don’t get more exciting Than a finely placed conversion Snorting mist like horses Hot blokes running free Imagine the baths afterwards Oh it’s all too much for me I have memories of autumn Fields all churned up with mud My Dad and Son played rugby There’s some rugby in my blood So, here’s my final word on this Rugby’s hot, but makes me sad For when I think of rugby It reminds me of my Dad Love you, Dad by Gail
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