In Ninety-Eight we went on tour to Swansea's lovely town.
We'd had such fun the year before; more names had been put down.
Mike Caird he did the planning, throughout the Winter's murk,
and we all had a wondrous time, because of his hard work.
The ladies thought they'd worry that their men would stray afar,
but we knew they'd be sure to find them - propping up the bar.
Our ladies are so pretty, their beauty's not surpassed,
they all have great big ... eye-lashes, and an even bigger ... smile!
Now Dave he was our driver, through roads both wide and thin,
if we got lost, or turned up late - t'was all because of him!
Den Collins was our singer - "a request" some fool would say,
but we all wanted "Silent Night", or "O'er the Hills and Far Away"
Alan Ghaut he ran the book for all those calling for a flutter,
but those who bet on Emrys - good heavens, did they splutter!
And Cyril won a walking stick, we knew that he was chuffed,
when someone asked him "How's your leg?" - and he told them to get stuffed!
When Silvia was leading, her woods were on the jack,
and when it came to having fun, there's nothing that she lacked.
And Trevor was our Fine Master, he listened all the time,
(he really was a b****y pain) - Oh damn it! That's a fine!
Now Grenville made a faux pas, which brought him to his knees,
forgot to thank the ladies, for the biccies and the teas!
Alan Palmer tried to line-dance, and showed that he was fit,
but Sandra saw the photos and now he's in deep ... trouble.
Now England's national sportsmen played like c**p - or even worse.
At least WE won some matches to liven up this verse.
But then there is this story - it's Lilleshall's finest yet,
of Grenville's epic "Wonder Wood" - of which you've not heard yet.
The one-two-three's had done their bit, the head was in a state,
and we were lying seven down - or was it even eight?
He called upon his number three - said "Beryl, what shall I do?"
She raised her hands to heaven - she hadn't got a clue!
So Grenville took a great big breath, and then began to choke,
the big breath had reminded him - of a rather naughty joke!
He stepped onto the mat and let the wood go on its way,
the Lilleshall players couldn't watch and turned their heads away.
The wood went sailing down the rink; opposition held their breath,
then Gren began to choke again - he really looked like death!
Then Beryl shouted, "Yes, come on!" The target wood was hit,
the opposition three looked down and shouted out "Oh ... well bowled".
For the jack had trickled backwards, and what was plain to see,
it came to rest upon the green, where Lilleshall woods did be!
Now as a mathematician, Grenville's talent doesn't show,
but talking as a bowler he knows seven into two DOES go.
But then the tour was over, we looked back to reflect.
We counted matches won and lost and then thought, "what the heck".
We did our best; we bowled our woods, both long, and short and wide,
our skips they thought we'd placed a bet, upon the other side.
The fun and jinks are over, but folks don't ever fear,
twelve months is not a long long time - we'll all be back next year!
To all the clubs that hosted us, best wishes do we send.
To them we dedicate this ode - it's clean ... right to the end!