Saracens! Calgary's darling band
All hail thy players and all
Where once, beneath skies of distant land
They learn'd th't game o' stick n' ball
From o'er the world ye did roam
Ye came to this cold oil town here
For job, for money, for game and home
And maybe a wee dram. Or beer.
There, watching high the least alarm
Thy chairman, rude goalie, gleams afar
Our bold captain, skilled in arms
And mark'd with many a seamy scar
With pond'rous backs and flighty fore
Grim-rising o'er this sad flock
Have oft withstood assailing war
And oft repelled th' invaders shot
With awestruck thought, and pitying tears
I view those noble, stately Simpsons
Like Scotia's kings of other years
Fam'd heroes! With amazing height dimensions
Alas, both accountants, their poor son
Post Enron, their royal name low in the dust
Their hapless child may work doing sums
Tho' basketball wages surely seem more just
Thy Stewarts, Saracen, social, kind
With open arms the stranger hail
Their views enlarged, their liberal mind
Above the narrow, rural vale
Attentive still to whistles wail
Or modest Merit's silent claim
And never may their enjoyment fail
And never sobriety blot their name
Here Jacobs still staunch the amber tide
As busy trade their labour plies
There enginee's noble pride
Bids elegance and waters rise
Here banker from her native skies
High wield her judgement and childs' father
Their learning with her eagle eyes
Seeks Laura and coy brother
Thy doggies bright, thy walks and ramble
Gay as the gilded summer sky
Sweet as the dewy cloud gray Bramble
Dear as the Rhubarb, thrill of joy
Fair McDougalls strikes th' adoring eye
Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine
I see the Sire of Love on high
'Cept when too much liquor he doth imbibe
Wild beats his heart to trace your dainty steps
Where defenders, in days of yore
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps
Old Scotia's David Fettes bore
Ev'n I who sing and dance in rustic lore
Haply m' school days have left their shed
A fac'd grim David's loudest roar
Ball-following where your fathers led!
Young Marian blooms our bonniest lass
Her blush is like the morning
The rosy dawn, the springing oil
With early rocks adorning.
Her eyes outshine the radient beams
That gild the passing shower
And but for the woes o' the crystal knee
Another great Saracen would flower
Where are the Wegerhoffs I have met in the morning?
That danced to the child's early song?
Where is the beer that awaited my wand'ring
At evening the wild-woods among?
No more the winding course of yon river
And marking many corners so fair
No more I trace the Norm's footsteps of pleasure
But Jan's and well-meaning care
My Gilberts toils upon the plain
Thro' FHA and rugby, thro' frost and snaw
And o'er the PC I leuk fu' fain
When Jennie's emails homeward ca'
Young Ben was the blythest lad
I a' town or here awa
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud
Fu' a miny version of his Da
Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride
And eke a braw new breechan
His luge Paedar got astride
And down the ice a screechin'
Whiles Diedra a home with educational crush
The doited beastie stammers
The up he gets, and off he sets
For sake of icy clammers
Saracens! Calgary's darling band
All hail thy players and all
Where once, beneath skies of distant land
They learn'd th't game o' stick n' ball
From o'er the world ye did roam
Ye came to this cold oil town here
For job, for money, for game and home
And maybe a wee dram. Or beer