There was movement at Bondi Junction, for the word had passed around
That the dolts from the Eastern Suburbs had lost their way,
And had joined the broken down-and-out sauces -with Mitchell Pearce at the pound,
They were absolutely bloody hopeless, that’s all I’ve got to say.
So all the wired tattooed rough-riders, from the Bondi strip joints near and far
Were busted coked up and crying in the Cross late Sunday night,
For blokes who can actually play footy love a hiding, knocking Roosters over tit and arse
And slamming Sam is dancing and laughing with delight!
A.B. (Archie Butterfly) Paterson