The field was cold, the day was cold,
It was cold as a witch's breast
When the Sons of Mom came trotting out
To stand their brutal test.
None knew if he would end up hurt
Or even be alive;
But pain, or death, they laughed them off.
They were bound for the Forty Five.

Their helmets rattled in the dusk,
As half-time came around,
The score just 49 and 9
On the hard autumnal ground.
And those who stood against the team
Were steely-eyed and gray.
They were bound to stop those Sons of Mom,
From going all the way.

In the azure sky a cold sun fell,
And the autumn snap was chill
And the boys was feeling a tad unsure
ANd they looked for help to Stilly.
And she just laughed and tossed her hair,
"I've got just one thing to say!
You haven't got much choice this time,
But to make the next of K!"

Now Rapparee wanted a roll-out stunt,
ANd Gnu swore he was wrong,
And Chongo said he could win the day
If you'd just let him go long.
Statue of Liberty! That's the play!
So swore the Man of Emms.
But we'd lost ten yards trying out that play,
So we wouldn't got here again!

Wal, the whistle blew and the huddle formed
--it was ours with a first and ten.
And Still spoke up again.
"If you boys want to leave this field,
both walking and alive,
You have one chance: do the BS dance,
And make that Forty Five.