THE GREAT PLAYERS OF THE GAME

Singing we ride over the field

To encounter the armoured opponents

Powell's most lovely bouncer shuttles over Kevin's head

The next delivery oh my, Pietersen is dead

Powell is feared he is dread for sooner than later

Prior is bombarded with deliveries that only gave him

Time to settle for one then make his way back to the pavilion

To amuse his Royal Majesty Powell gave England

A whooping  that causes the English men to ponder their fate

In asking are we just West Indian one-day beating plate?

From the mortally wounded English men

Lines from their journals herein they pen

Drop Pietersen the star for we are finally at war

Call up the younger men for we will not allow

The West Indian to beat us like this again

Far from their shores we ride with dignity and pride

Fate is never too late West Indies Captain Gayle

Has conquer the English yet the villain WICB lingers near

Are they now persuaded that Gayle is the reality that abates

Their anxiety? We will never know until they are home never

more to roam!

With the Crown on each team members head, woe to Ireland

Scotland and the Netherlands you are dead West Indies is flowing with

Caribean Adrenalin your fate will be great for they will give

You ever thing they brought on their plate! Your fall will be great

Some say we are too late but we know our destiny is in our winning ability

At any rate I confess this team is heading to be great.