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If you ever go hashing at Victoria |
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You're sure to meet some very queer folk |
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At the On-On, at the main and lemonade runs |
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At the Down - down while imbibing beers and cokes |
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You must watch out for Damp Squib - he'll take your money |
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That Celtic hash Grand Master Lancelot |
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Will make awfull jokes in Gibberish and Gaelic |
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And there's Sam the Pipe - he's just a harmless clot. |
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Some of them turn up in hats like Pukka Sahib |
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Occasionally with Teepol on their shoes |
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Some wear tee-shirts from their US Alma Maters |
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And all have heliotosis from the booze |
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You'll be forced to hear trash composed by Bumble |
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You'll see a most peculiar Almanack |
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And the federal Stars and Stripes flag will be flying |
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As Pilgrim Minor leads the motley pack. |
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You'll get wet and filthy, scratched and torn and tattered |
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But if you're a Hasher you won't mind a bit |
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You will even learn to love the bloody leeches |
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'Cos it's all good fun and helps you to Keep Fit. |
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