A Jaffa at the Waca
'Twas brillig when the googly seams
In badman Bradman’s dobber dreams.
It was the beamer deftly steered
That parted Grace’s bushy beard.
Yahoo that yorker, man alive,
With chinese cut and harrow drive,
And make an outing of an innings,
Building a tonk from small beginnings
By giving humpty to the offie.
Alas, I cannot slog for toffee.
I’ve got the yips, I’m out of luck.
A golden gazzer spells a duck.
A double teapot spells a sledge.
The doosra takes my leading edge.
Though three short legs are out of joint
I dolly it to silly point.
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