"Poor Ol' Poms"
:: l y r i c s ::
The call is out for Fletcher to be sent home in disgrace,
and Giles ought now to pack his bags with Panesar [who may as well spell his name 'Panacea' judging by some web-commentators] in his place;
and Flintoff too should lose his job, so say the website bombs
they can't accept the better team beat the hopeless, awful poms.

Well, Giles has dropped the Ashes now, and Flintoff lost his chance,
and on the poms the media's boots are stomping quite a dance;
it matters not what notes they play, from music-hall or proms,
the Australian team's far better than those dreadful, ill-starred poms.

Botham said that England's team had some, winning, winsome lads,
yet twice they have been soundly whipped by a bunch of ageing dads;
it's nought to two, with Perth to come, so hear those loud tom-toms
predicting woe and sharpened knives for the hapless, losing poms.
They can't accept the better team
which never cares how old they seem,
the ones who can afford to beam, beat the woeful, whinging poms.