Lions limericks

First topic message reminder :

As we wait anxiously for Thursday's announcement of the test 23, how about some Lions limericks to pass the time:


There once was a Lion called Halfpenny,
Whose kicks, he did not miss many,
His defense was robust,
He attacks if he must,
Under the high ball, he'll contest any.


Do your worst!

Cyril wrote:As a spook that was grey he did post
And yet never did up the ghost
He posted on Lions
With each of his scions
But one day he may yet be toast

You're on a role there Cyril, keep them coming.

Scary....

The Scots lad by the name of Gray
His blonde locks were similar to hay
He did his best
But the coaches did jest
We prefer Parling they'd say...

A winger named Cuthbutt did blub
During his national anthem, poor bub,
With a tear in his eye
He was heard to cry
Christ knows I'm no impact sub

There once was a man called ASBO
Whos' run was akin to a doe
Independence he wanted
Lions representative was vaunted
But in the end all he could do was hoe

There once was a man called FES
His opinion on Messiahs was Yes
The speed and the skill
Going in for the kill
Meant only one option to miss

There once was a lad Called Radge
Who decided to dress up like madge
10K was his goal
Running through a smelly sole
But at least at end he got his badge

Cyril is better than most
Wit drips from his every post
But when he's been drinking
And posts without thinking
His wit devolves into Dutch woest.

To many, O'Gara's a runt
And despite his accurate punt
On a previous tour
He conceded a score
That let many to swear: stupid ****!

There once was a player called Bowe
Causing many a woman's libido to grow
Although he be married
That wouldn't stop Cari
She'd lock him up in her chateau

Put your Bowe in me Quiver, me Dear,
Says many a damsel when he does appear,
"Ach, sure now yer making me blush",
Says the big auld Irish lush,
"Me arrow's already in there I fear."

"Tis you're bein' a Naughty boy then without askin'"
Says yer one doin' all the accostin'
"Well, if yid lave me alone,
And stop manhandling me.........
...Well, this Limerick is getting too dirty to be quotin"

There once was a poster called SecretFly
Who used to write on the sly
A quiver and groan
When ASBO threw him a bone
With a lions heart till he dies

There was a young winger called Georgie
Who in Paris was hugged by his daddy
He produced a rogue finger
That he wagged at Will Genia
"Not cricket" said Andy "say sorry"

  

There was a young poster called Glas
Who's comments came straight from his A-ss
A thread he could Start
But I'd take it Apart
It's time he was put out to Grass

Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath
Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath
Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath
Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath
Neath Neath Neath, Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath Neath

 I thought that would get your attention.

What you think of tomorrow's team mate - The bench is interesting - I would have had Ianto involved

There once was a player called Croft,
Who in the lineouts was held aloft,
But he carries the ball,
Instead of driving the maul,
So the pundits say that he's soft.

Halfpenny
Bowe
BOD
Davies
North  
Sexton
Youngs  

Vunipola  
Youngs
Jones
Jones
Parling  
Lydiate
Heaslip
Warburton

Grant
Hibbard
Cole
Croft  
O Brien
Murray
Farell
Cuthbert

If I were Gray or Evans I would be tamping. I guess he's trying to wind Big Mike up for next week. If not, he and especially Rowndtree want shooting is my view.

There once was a blind side from Leicester
Called Croft who was considered a speedster
Scoring tries was his aim
he'd spend most of the game
On the wing, just like Iniesta.

On this majical, mystical night.
as the lions and wallabies take to fight.
no doubt the victorious team would normally where blue, green, red and white.
but on this night it will be the team and fans of red at the final whistle dancing with delight.

 

Iniesta plays right midfield but I guess it rhymed

"My Madness is my Sanity"

 

westisbest wrote:On this majical, mystical night.
as the lions and wallabies take to fight.
no doubt the victorious team would normally where blue, green, red and white.
but on this night it will be the team and fans of red at the final whistle dancing with delight.

Dont't give up the day job

Amongst the ranks of dirt trackers,
Were players not thought of as crackers.
One though truly stood out,
Still the coaches held doubts.
But Toby deserves many more backers.

RubyGuby wrote: 

Iniesta plays right midfield but I guess it rhymed

"My Madness is my Sanity"

It's called poetic licence

There once was a blind side from Leicester
Called Croft who was considered a speedster
Scoring tries was his aim
he'd spend most of the game
On the wing, or taking a siesta

 

Glas a du wrote:There once was a blind side from Leicester
Called Croft who was considered a speedster
Scoring tries was his aim
he'd spend most of the game
On the wing, or taking a siesta

 

There was a young winger called Flanker
Who's inclusion was always a Banker
He could run; jump and Catch
In spite of his Thatch
But he was a bit of a Merchant

Brian Moore gets hot under the collar
About feeds that are crooked he hollers
The modern game he decries
Such developments despised
But of punching he asks "what's the bother?"

RubyGuby wrote: 

westisbest wrote:On this majical, mystical night.
as the lions and wallabies take to fight.
no doubt the victorious team would normally where blue, green, red and white.
but on this night it will be the team and fans of red at the final whistle dancing with delight.

Dont't give up the day job

Err ok boss;)

I like your deconstruction of the Limerick. Never mind avoiding the rhythm, avoiding the obvious temptation to go for comedy is a bold post ironic statement.

And so on the eve of the game
Some players are making their name
We're hoping that North
Will shortly go forth
And give us some more of the same.

Sorry, missed the exclamation mark - make that North!.

North, my boy, don't never say sorry,
Especially to Aussies as they is your quarry,
Beale whistles off a terrible miss,
Horwill, that lad is taking the p-iss.
So don't be caught whinging in fourXing slurry!

Graham his name, Mr Rowndtree
A coach of his club then his country
Was given the task -
Coach the Lions pack
But his picks left us doubting his mastery

There was a young man name of Farrell
Who played in the England apparel
He thought the red shirt
With Dad coaching a cert.
But then Wilko had him over a barrel

Rob Howley in his time was a decent back
Altho coaching skills he did lack
8 losses in a row
was a new low
But a lucky 6 Nations win had the fans off his back

 

"Many six nations wins" just runs better...

Let us leave behind petty squabbles
As four nations together are cobbled
Let us rise up as one
In antipodean sun
Win, lose or draw, let's get sozzled.

There was a man named Vunipola
Who test claim got stronger and stronger
As the fancied players
Kept getting injured
But alas they'd picked the wrong brother

You’ve got to feel for Ryan Grant
His rival packs down like my aunt
We know he can scrum
But the coach is a WUM,
Who says “pick on form”, but he shan’t.

There once was a man called Gatland
Who thought he had such a plan
Run straight with no gile
Kick it away with no style
Look now the series is off down the pan

It's been like this since 2008
When he won his first grand slam plate
The fans don't understand
Or like Gatland's game plan
But the occasional result has been great.

But beating England isn't enough,
Nor Ireland, France and the other fluff.
Six Nations is poor,
And up till now Gatland was the only SH hoor,
So, Australia are once again calling his bluff.

Kick and defend plays into the Australian hand
They say that will do just grand
His slams were down to pure luck
They other teams did suck
His plans were always built on sand*




Dick best copyright..

The Lions arrived with a plan,
To never keep ball in the hand,
They kicked it away,
From every play,
Cooper scored when he caught it and ran.

A poster who tried to Inspire
Was once a Glorious Empire
But his posts failed to Hit
As they were just full of Shi-t
And his opinions were all pretty dire

There once was a third lions test
Some said this game would be the best
Gatland's tactics sucked
The lions were f**ked
But with a French ref we were blessed!

We should have brought a spin doctor
To explain away this disaster
To tell all the press
Where we go next
In truth we've no clue for the decider

Woodward is already far too busy,
Goading the Oz lads into a tizzy.
Anyway, you can't talk up shyte,
It's a long days journey into night,
But no Knighthoods this time round from dear old Lizzie.

There once was a rugby player called BOD,
By most he was held next to god,
The leader of the team
To many he did seem,
His finale was ruined by Fatman, the sod