When I was getting of an age my boots to lock away.

A gilt-edged invitation card came through my door to say

‘Us lads have all decided your services we need

To join us in preserving the old-time rugby creed

So pass the port my comrades

Fond memory we incline

To drink the health of Strollers

And these rare old times

And so I joined that company of gentlemen renowned.

Whose spotless reputation extends the country round

`Whose watchword’s proved each weekend as victory they

Old age by treachery o’er youthful vigour can prevail [hail

Our hair if there sports every shade from grey to purest

white.

We’ll play the game like lions, then like camels sup

And while we roar in chorus self-adulating song [all night

No unattended pint or female stands alone for long

I’ve supped excess of bitter, the lager’s dimmed my brain

But still we go on playing this rare old young man’s game

Our noses broken, backs, knees gone, our eyesight’s going

down but the vital bits still work girls, so don’t be leaving town