From the borderlands of bulwark, and from sunny Caldicot,
from deep and darkest Birmingham, there hails a motley lot.
Weem call ourselves The Widders, weem Widders on the loose,
Weem don’t drink tea, weem don’t drink beer, weem drink Widder juice.
Weem like to drink, weem like to dance, weem a happy little band,
cos weem am the Widders, feared throughout the land!
Theres me and you, and you and me, and him and her and them,
theres these and those, and them and us, and that lot at the end,
theres you and I, and I and you, and us and them and those,
theres this lot ere, and that lot there, and a few that we don’t know.
Weem travelled far, weem travelled wide from Lydney to Llandogo,
weem sometimes dance a morris dance, weem sometimes dance the pogo.
Weem like to drink, weem like to dance, weem a happy little band,
cos weem am the Widders, feared throughout the land!
Weem danced in Caldicot, Chepstow and Tintern Parva too,
at carnivals, at fetes and wakes weem usually drink a few.
Dressed in rags and lallygags, weem bash our widder sticks,
with our top hats weem big and strong, coz weem eat widderbix.
Weem like to drink, weem like to dance, weem a happy little band,
cos weem am the Widders, feared throughout the land!!!!
Martin Nasey © 2001