Oh a Saturday game, fairly batters my frame

As I muckily crawl, from each ruck or rolling maul

When the last whistle’s blown I’ve scarce strength left

to moan

Although I’ve but rarely laid hands on the ball

But when friends ask me why such a greybeard as I

Continue to deny that the years have taken toll

I look straight in their eye and I proudly reply

That here’s where you meet with the best of them all

My sporting career spanning nigh forty year

Sampled most permutations of boot and bat and ball

But once rugby I’d tried then I knew I was tied

For other sports’ pleasures soon started to pall

For the ultimate high is scoring the try

That seals Hoppers’ win and the other team’s downfall

And the feeling inside when you’re bursting with pride

‘Cause your health’s being drunk by the best of them all

Hoppers Strollers (our name) have acquired some small

fame

For taking the game to the northern part of Gaul

The which reference arcane means we’re touring again

On the broad Flandrian Plain we’re to make a landfall

And thirsting to score, play Rubes once more

In Antwerp’s fair city whose charms will never pall

And after the game sing a beery refrain

Dendermonde and Strollers, the best of them all