I like big props and I cannot lie
You rugger-lovers can't deny
That when you see the fat boys scrumming down
With a 'crouch-touch-pause-engage'
You feel chuffed
With a proud chest out-puffed
Cos you know those props look tough
Deep in the mud at Twickers
You'll find a dumb ox like Vickers
Or maybe, it's a swampy fixture
Like Fran Cotton in that picture
Some League fans tried to recruit me
But with scrums like that – please!
Someone shoot me!
Ooh, God Almighty
I like to see them feisty
So scrummage, boys, scrummage
Use that epic tonnage
We've all seen them playing
Stuck in, with no complaining
They sweat, threat, keep going in dry or wet
I tire of old Australia
With a front row that's a failure
It's an average team, easy to stop
If you don't believe in props
So fellas, fellas – does that front row make you proud?
Then praise them, raise them; sing their names out loud.
Rugby needs props
[eighteen stone with a face like coleslaw]
I like them round and big
Ugly like a pig
I would not love this game if the scrum was dropped
And we lost our props
Those cauliflower ears
Say no – double up – no fears
Not talking about half-breaks
When a prop sidesteps, the Earth shakes!
I like them real thick like a brick
If you want that ball quick
On my perfect rugby canvas
Is a front-row hand-off
In the face of a stand-off
With legs like Os du Randt
Big and wide like an African elephant
Solid in the rear
Like that Tongan, Soane Tonga'uiha
A blood-clot mug-shot
Fat and squat like Gareth Chilcott
Pretty-boy face like Graham Roundtree
And harder than an iron foundry
Running wild in a strop
Like a triceritops
We need to love our props
So ladies, ladies – how d'you feel about having more babies?
If you feed them lard and beer by the yard
They'll be madder than dogs with rabies
Rugby needs props.