Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis - Birds, Batsmen and Bowlers lyrics

The throstle now in English lanes Bids Summer strew her dear delights. . . . But we, intent on cricket gains, Watch well our valiant willow knights. With eager eyes on cabled news, We watch each bravely mounting score; With ears half frozen, we refuse To go to bed; but crane for more From out the ether, as we sit And 'listen-in,' tho' midnight's gone. While glorious centuries they hit (And if it isn't Bradman, it's Ponsford; and if it isn't Ponsford, it's Woodfull; and if it isn't Woodfull, it's McCabe; and if it isn't McCabe, it's Chipperfield; and if it isn't Chipperfield -) Gosh! Can this sort of thing go on? Our hope lies not alone in Don; Others remain to carry on. The Merry Mavis, fluting free In England now by wood and weald, Calls from the edge of Arcady. . . . But, as our bowlers take the field, We mark them with a mental eye, Striving against the mimic foe, Despite one Shaw. (Let Mavis cry, The foolish fowl.) We see them mow The wickets down; this way and that, Turning the ball. Rare joy we sup To mark their cunning beat the bat - (And if it isn't Wall, it's O'Reilly; and if it isn't O'Reilly, it's Grimmett; and if it isn't Grimmett, it's Fleetwood-Smith; and if it isn't Fleetwood-Smith -) Oh Gosh! Can our men keep this up? The Test? Alas, what bitter cup - Hey! Shut that kookaburra up!