Broughton f*gs for Cunningham, Mayhew's f*g has fled,
I don't f*g for either for daddy knows the head.
Crabtree runs the prefect's bath, Dwalish brings him tea,
Me, I added to the fun, milk spiced with LSD.
Three cheers for Kings and Houghton House,
Three more for masters' wives,
Another for cold showers
And the best years of our lives.
Curfew here is sacrosanct, the town is out of bounds,
So keep an eye for Matron returning from her rounds.
Chaplain takes confession, he says we're steeped in sin,
The Lower Fourth's ungodly thoughts bring dribbles to his chin.
Who'll cheer our first eleven and damn the vanquished foe,
Why the earnest eager freshmen will, cause we're too drunk to go.