To the tune of Men of Harlech
Fuck! We lost and ain’t proceeding,
World Cup hopes lie crushed and bleeding,
So much for my special pleading,
Wales fails again!
This is quite astounding,
Sixty years compounding,
To forever wait is Cambria’s fate,
The stats alone are confounding!
Men of hard luck, same old story,
Best chance ever of some glory
Blown to bits by fate, oh poor me,
Cymru fucks my brain!
To the tune of The Ash Grove
Down yonder grey valleys where dreams are too dear, dear,
Since brute robber barons stole Cymru’s coal trove,
One option is pay off outstanding arrears
Then turn on the taps of your greasy gas stove.
There’s no point in putting your head in the oven,
‘Cos these days gas just isn’t lethal at all.
Instead, let it build-up then flick on your lighter
And take out the street in one giant fire-ball!
To the tune of Myfanwy
Right: I shall implement my Plan B,
Farewell Russia in summer bloom,
Ditch forest dacha (Air B&B)
And pilgrimage to Lenin’s tomb,
The Hermitage must cope without me,
And Red Square’s domes remain unseen,
I’ll disengage in damp Tenby –
That will erase those might-have-beens!
To the tune of Cwm Rhondda
Tell me, O thou great deceiver,
Why we Welsh are dealt this hand?
We don’t deserve such cruel torment,
We’ve never hurt another land.
Bred to grovel, bred to toady,
Why are we not favoured more?
What? It’s just sod’s fucking law?!?
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