Air: Little Brown Jug
SITE SOURCE: Sport
Of all the games for field or home,
There’s none like that we call our own,
No sound so sweet, on summer’s day,
As the umpire’s well-known call of ” play,”
So take your block and. guard your stumps,
Regardless of the coming bumps,
And stand up firm to guard your wicket,
And play the manly game of cricket.
Look out boys, one and all,
While we pass around the ball,
Ha, ha, ha, there’s a run,
Cricket is the game for fun.
A shooter first is hardly fair—
“Well played —— I do declare ;
He’s snicked it and they steal a run,
The ice is broken, ah, what fun!
If —— only stands first “over;”
Hurrah, a splendid hit to cover ;
Now four to leg, boys, that’s the ticket—
“What a glorious game is cricket!
But now I must curtail my song,
To tell of all would take too long—
‘Twould need a column in the Mail
To give a match in full detail—
Of slows and fasts and treacherous ones,
How —— stole his little runs,
How Butterfingers dropped a catch,
And very nearly lost the match.
All the words I have seem tame,
To ring the glories of this game ;
Now, if you doubt me, come and. try,
And you will find the same as I;
So don your flannels and take your bat,
When next we meet upon the flat,
I’m sure you’ll fall in love with cricket,
And rush away to get a ticket.