"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
One frosty Sunday morn.
The members stood about,
Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of kicks and goals and points
As it had done for years.
"It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke;
"Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke
Has seasons been so bad."
"It's lost, all right," said young O'Neil,
With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
And chewed a piece of bark.
And so around the chorus ran
"It's losing outright, no doubt."
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."
Compliments John O'Brien
