Lyrics composed by
John Henderson on 28th December, 2007
Fifties cricket played,
Oan oor Coonty gruns,
It hid sich rich West Indian flavourin,
As they piled oan the runs.
Kanhais flair wis legend,
Frae Mannofield tae Nor Inch.
His flashin blade tormentin,
Makin fielders cowr an flinch.
Bit Iffla doon at Williamfield,
Wis jist as muckle kent,
An Stirlin fans aft thankd gweed Lord,
Fur talent He hid sent.
As stumper tae his guile,
I certainly kent aboot a that.
Faur less sheer brilliance Iffla showed,
Int field an wi the bat.
Yin day ahint a thumpin,
Up Nor frae a Kanhais crew,
We hostd them at Stirlin,
Whaur the croods jist grew and grew.
In sich lik bull ring bourachin,
George Youngson wis oan sang.
Oor sma-lik total gaitherd, sayin,
Thitll nae delay em lang.
Whan airly tead been slaw-lik taen,
An Kanhai cam tae crease,
It luikd a stane cauld certainty,
Proceedins suin wid cease.
Nae cause tae chinge thit prophesy,
Cam efter six bas bowled,
As Kanhai thrashed fu neenteen runs,
In yin-day cricket mould.
Bit, unlik us oor Iffla man,
Wis calm an resolute.
Ill set wee trap fur Rohan boy,
An git the b-gger oot.
Trow tae his word oor wily pro,
Suin hid his oppo fazed,
Till whan ont pad he hid him plumb,
Umps finger it wis raised.
Frae thit pynt oan Dons sair dumfoonert,
Skytd fest agley.
Score bein peer they eikd oot theer,
An shoart sim guid lang way!
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