It’s that time of the year,
When we look for good cheer,
Some will start early,
Some will start late,
But the 4th November is THE start date.
Some MOBIs will gather in Woolloomooloo,
Drinks lots of beer
And not get in the poo.
There’s Shep and CJ,
Who call each other “mate”,
There’s Pussa and Pete,
They are the elite.
Mick H and Don Ames are fronting, and that’s fine,
To have them shout beers will be just divine,
They don’t know the tradition of shouting all the first time.
Mobes will turn up,
Stroppy will front,
And maybe Hendo too,
Dave Warren as well,
But they’ll not be there at the final bell.
There will be lots of beer drunk,
Some of it ”old”,
Funny warries retold,
Some tales will be tall,
Some will be true,
There will even be a sombre moment or two.
After a meal later that night,
With a bottle of red,
We will all be ready to head off to bed.
So at the end of the night,
We’ll head off to our digs,
Have a bit of sleep,
Before we get back into our rigs,
‘Cos all too soon,
It’s Saturday morning,
And that heralds the dawning,
Of the start of the fun,
The SH Xmas Rocks Run!!!!!
We’ll meet again at the Quay,
For some breakkie,
There we’ll be joined by the rest of the runners,
Pony will fly up from the deep South,
Gordo and Ned, with Ellen and Sandy,
Their long-suffering stunners,
The Hippy One himself,
And Stroppy and Toots,
Perhaps Charlie S and
Doug Green and Brenda,
They’re in for a treat they’ll always remember.
After some food,
We’ll start the fun day,
And head into the fray.
After a beer in many pubs,
We’ll be looking for lunch,
The Nelson will do,
And Pie ‘n’ Peas will suffice,
Let’s not go too hard,
on the Hippy One’s credit card.
The second half of the run is more sedate than the first,
Mainly because we no longer have a thirst,
We’re full of food and grog and fit to bust,
But none of us will want to bite the dust,
‘cos there is more to do, and there’s more to see,
Especially at that pub with all the good-looking honeys.
The Hofbrau beckons eventually,
And there we have a chance to express,
Our individuality,
So in the din, thinking of sin,
We get a “cock-sucking cowboy”,
Or a “slippery nipple”,
Or some other fancy and expensive cocktail tipple.
We finish up in The Orient,
By now there’s a crowd,
And crumpet galore,
We shackle Charlie to a chair,
Because he wants to go there,
Pussa breaks out his camera,
And charms his way around,
Sees a good-looking chick, and he’s in for a pound,
Gets his photo and moves on the prowl.
Pony gets all fidgety,
He has to catch a plane,
But Pete reckons he should shout,
As Pony is GL,
And there is always time for one more before the boarding bell.
Finally, ‘tis time to leave the Orient,
The marriedees have said their goodbyes,
And we’ll meet again next year,
It’s 1800 and the Frisco and Bells are calling,
For a few last beers,
A meal, perhaps a red,
And it’s back to bed.
.
.
.
.
.
Until Sunday morning!!!!!!!!!!
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(Ned, you must be so jealous.... 
and drinking the establishments dry... 
at the Frisco have stopped by the 4th!! 
.... that'll knock a few out of admittance!!!! 
(...as there's no penalty for 'no-shows'...) 
protest) in for lunch 
Nelson...
