Swords of fire in the morning sun glint
Sharpened tirelessly on virgin flint
Axes poised, at the ready
Muscular arms, all held steady
Across the plains a gruff voice yells
For our homeland, wife’s and long lost pals
For the tavern down the road
The pub, the beer and the bro-code
A thousand feet on downtrodden grass
Stream forward to cleave head from arse