aussies

these are 2 of they chants they came up with for the forthcoming ashes series

they prob wont sing nyway they neva sing

There's the song for injured captain Michael Vaughan, set to the tune of Daydream Believer:
Cheer up Michael Vaughan,
How bad must it be,
To a be a poor pommie whinger,
And you're watching on TV?
But Livingstone seemed proudest of his song for Monty Panesar - a player routinely called "Monty Python" here down under.
Set to the tune of My Old Man's a Dustman, it goes something like this:
Monty Panesar's useless,
A poor old English chap,
And when he's not spin bowling,
No fan will ever clap.
He's useless in the covers,
He's useless in the slips,
And when he straps the pads on,
He'll pass out with the yips.

Brett Lee
You're just too good to be true,
Can't take the ball off of you,
We love your fiery spells,
You bowl like Lillee not Nel
And when we're drunk at the bars,
We can't believe that you're ours,
You're just to good to be true,
Can't take that ball off of you...

You're stressing out Marcus now
(repeat) Stressing out Marcus
Stresscothick,
(repeat) Stresscothick,
Come on, come on, come, come on Marcus now
Come on Marcus now
Come on and work it on out
Work it on out
You know that stress is no good
Stress no good
You know you stress so bad
Stress so bad
We'll help you stress a little longer now
Stress a little longer
Can't get us out of your mind
(repeat) Well sweat it, sweat it, sweat it, Marcus now

Flintoff
Freddie Flintoff
He?s a cricketing anomaly
?cause he
plays for England
and has a batting average over 3


But when
The pommies come to OZ
They will
Get a rude shock because
Flintoff
Freddie Fintoff
Will have his head knocked off
By our Brett Lee

They left their land with thoughts of victory;
And travelled down to Oz, with hopes that they would see;
An English team that didn't suck;
And the Ashes Urn regained;
Oh, how foolish are the Barmy Army!

The Aussie team is ready for this fight;
Wining the Ashes, is Australia's given right;
The Poms bought up all our tickets;
And bitched about our wickets;
But they'll crumble under Australia's cricket might.

The last English victory has been and gone;
And I'd cry too if I had ever been born a Pom.
We've got them really worried;
They'll be leaving in a hurry,
Once we've held the Urn aloft they'll know we've won

2more aussie chants
hygeine 1
Oh they've been soap dodgers for many a year,
They've spent all their money on whisky and beer;
But now they've returned to retain the ashes on our shores,
But without soap we shouldn't play the soap dodgers no more.
No! No! never; no never no more;
We shouldn't play the soap dodgers no more!

They've dropt into Australia a time too frequent,
And they've the sold the same line of how much money was spent;
Can they keep the ashes? and the same answer is "Nay!
Such a custom as yours we can beat any day."
So there's no, no, never; no never no more;
We shouldn't play the soap dodgers no more!
Then they drew from there pockets the ashes so bright
And the Aussies eyes opened wide with delight;
Said you've left your land as one of the best,
But the words that they told them were only in jest."
But there's no, no, never; no never no more;
We shouldn't play the soap dodgers no more!
They'll go home to there frozen home to confess what They've done;
And They'll ask them to pardon their soap dodging sons;
And if they'd just bath as never before,
Then they wouldn't be the soap dodgers no more.
For they'll no, no, never; never no more;
We'll never shall play the soap dodger no more

hygeine 2

Stand up! If your towel is wet,
Stand up! If you've showered yet,
Stand up! If you're not a stinkin' Pom,
Stand up! If you're Australian

KEVIN PIETERSEN ONE
[To the tune of "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands"]
You think that you are English, you're a Boer,
You think that you are English but you can score,
If you're an Aussie and you know it, then you really ought to show it,
If you're Aussie and you know it, clap your hands.

KEVIN PIETERSEN TWO
I'd rather be a Saffer than a Pom,
I'd rather be a Saffer than a Pom,
Some play for King and Country, but you just play for money,
I'd rather be a Saffer than a Pom.

THE BARMY ARMY
[To the tune of "To be a pilgrim."]
Bell, Jones & Tres-coth-ick,
Vaughan, Strauss & Harmy.
If you think you'll beat us again,
Your barmier than your army.
When we're 300 for 1,
And you're getting beaten in our sun,
Remember what you want...
"TO BE AN AUSSIE"

BRETT "BING" LEE
[To the tune of "I like Bing Lee."]
Let's go Brett Lee,
He swings 'em at Mach 3,
He'll bounce you,
He'll york you,
While grinning with glee.
Let's go Brett Lee,
He bats better than your number 3,
All guts,
All glory,
He'll bring you to your knees.
Come on Brett Lee!

You know we're going to win the Ashes
Nothing else matters
You Barmy gits
Will crack the sh*ts
When we pull out our trump
And have this won by stumps
Give it to old Glenn McGrath

Australians all let's signal four,
For Ponting's scoring free.
With cuts and drives he belts them all.
He bats at number three.

His shots abound with natures gifts
His pull's a sight to see.
In history's page let every stage
Say: "Ponting, century!"

Your bowlers are dodgy,
your batsmen can't hit.
Thank God for Flintoff,
without him you're sh*t.
//
You've taken the Ashes.
16 years! What a joke!
You sure took your time
to learn not to choke.
//
And how do you measure
"appropriateness?"
"Why: only the best
when we win some tests!"
//
So, for winning the Ashes,
a gong for you all.
What do you get, then,
for winning a war?
//
"Two world wars and one world cup!"
is your plaintiff cry (oops, better not forget the Falklands).
If only you could celebrate
something else before you die.
//
RWC! The Ashes!
The Skeleton Bob!
Curling! And Darts!
But who - really - gives a sh*t?
//
'Cause you're now here
for the Gentleman's Game.
Prepare to be whipped,
and to go home in shame
//
Your Royal Family
is a bad joke
Your teeth are bad,
and you don't like soap
//
"Too hot, too dry,
we don't like it here!"
Well thank GOD for that.
Get the hell home,
and drink your warm beer!

ohh eee brett lee!
ohh ah glen mcgrath!
Riiiicky! Riiiicky!
Shane Warne is King!
Riiiick Riiiicky!

Bowling in my green and gold
with my head right down
so deliveries will blow
at the pommies with the bat
they'll be standing there
wondering what the hell was that!!
Hayden ruins the pommies pacers
fielders running round like little speed racers
punter smashes boundaries with TOTAL class
freddie will left picking his.... GRASS.

Please allow me to introduce myself
I’m a man with a 40-inch waist
I’ve been around for many a long year
Laid many a touring team to waste
I was around when Mike Gatting
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Killed the Poms in ‘93
And I’m ready to do it again
Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name
But what’s confusing you
Is the straightness of my aim
Stuck around St Kilda
When I saw it was the time for a change
Peter Taylor and Peter Sleep
Spinners who didn’t spin – how strange!
I went the tonk
Bagged the coaching wonk
Had my fill of MacGill
And his precious plonk
Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name
But what’s confusing you
Is the straightness of my aim
I’ve bowled with spite
And without respite
For more than a decade
From Mumbai to Adelaide
I shouted “that’s out, without doubt”
I kept the Ump under the pump
And I never got gout
Let me please introduce myself
I’m a man of questionable taste
Call me the Sheikh of Tweak
But I’m not chic, meek nor sleek
Pleased to meet you etc…
I bowled the toppie and the googly, the flipper and the zooter
I never was a Farhart fan, but I did like Hooter
So when you face me, have some elegance
And some diligence and restraint
Use all your computer technology
But I’ll lay your tail to waste
Ooh, who, ooh, who
ooh, who, get on down
Ooh, who, ooh, who
ooh, who, Buchanan’s a clown
Tell me sweetie
Tell me sugar
Tell me baby
What’s my name
Ooh, who, ooh, who
Ooh who, it’s Shane

Australians all let us rejoice
For we are not English.
Our cricket teams don't play like girls,
or smell like rotten fish:
Gilchrist abounds in nature's gifts
Warney is a freak,
Let's smash the poms and send them home,
to warm beer and endless rain,
Piss off you poms we're going to win the Ashes back again!

God save our gracious Warne
Long live our portly Warne
God save our Shane
Still loves Victoria
Flipper so glorious
Long spells will rei-gn o’er the poms
God save our Shane

London Bridge is falling down
English cricket is full of clowns
Barmy Army know their going
Go home pommies
Monty, Monty Panesar
Your career won't go far
You can't bowl, You can't bat
And your fields a load of crap
Monty Monty Panesar
Your career won't go far

(to the tune of that's amore)
When the poms come to play,
We're asleep by midday,
they're so boring...
When they're batting, we cry
It's like watching paint dry,
It'sa boring
When we go and grab a dozen beers,
there's no founded fears,
we'll miss some runs scored
Only worry, we see,
is your tail will be cleaned
Up By Warnie! (loud)
Up By Warnie, (quieter)
Up By Warnie (normal)
(to the tune of i'm too sexy)

You're too white to not wear shirts
Too white to not wear shirts
The sunburn will hurt
Your're too pasty for our land
Too pasty for our land,
look, where is your tan?
You are pommies, you know what we mean
You wither away in the sunlight,
In the sunlight, in the sunlight, yeah
You tend to overburn in the sunlight

We me up, when one gets out bro
The score will still be stuck on ze-ro
Wake me up when the innings is done bro
And Warnie's ta-ken a-nother 5
The only way, England would win though
Is if Flintoff was playing solo
Wake me up, when Langer and Haydo
Are coming to out bat
Or if Monty the Faaaaat, comes to field


Barbie girl
Another pommie team
with an ashes dream
You're so craptastic
when we're fantastic
You need Daryll Hair
A 4 inch seam, oh yeah
Imagination
to you think you'll beat our nation

legendary aussie scum songs

aye ana aussie scum

a h8 the cunts

ana so du a

well evry1 knows tht lol

I would rather be a Kiwi than a Pom,
I would rather be a Kiwi than a Pom,
I would rather be a Kiwi,
I would rather be a Kiwi,
I would rather be a Kiwi than a POM!!

I this land that I adore
We've got beaches at our door
We don't get much rain to drive us insane
In our paradise of a colony.
We All Lve In A Beautiful Colony,
A Beautiful Colony, A Beautiful Colony,
We All Live In A Beautiful Colony,
a Beautiful Colony, A beautiful Colony.

(To the Tune of the English balls and chains song)

You came here with backpacks on but we don't have to leave
We don't have to leave, we don't have to leave, you came here with back packs on but we don't have to leave

If i had the wings of a sparrow
If i had the arse of a crow
I'd fly over england tomorrow
And shit on the poms below


In your english slums,
You look in the dustbin for something to eat,
You find a dead rat and you think it's a treat,
In your english slums.


Theres only one Kevin Peiterson
One Kevin Peiterson ,
With a packet of sweets
And a cheeky smile
Peiterson is a pedophile!
Theres only one... Kevin Peiterson


Some say that England is a wonderful place
To the people of Australia it's an absolute disgrace
They say they've got showers but we know the truth,
there's a hole in the roof where the rain pisses through
We hate oh we hate the poms, we hate the poms, we do,
Oh we hate, oh we hate the poms and we love it when they lose.


The Aussies are coming !!
The Aussies are coming !!
They all laugh at us, they all laugh at us,
They all say our days are numbered,
Born to be an Aussie,
Victorious are we,
If you wanna win the Ashes, then you'd better hurry up.


Where's ya father, where's ya father
Where's ya father Freddie
Haven't got one
Never had one
You're a bastard Freddie


Give him the ball and a metre of grass,
And he'll leave the batsman lying on his arse,
Lee Lee Oh Oh Brett Lee.


Michael Vaughan's willy,
Michael Vaughan's willy,
It's short and shrivelled and it looks so silly,
Michael Vaughan's willy.


Cheer up Vaughan
Oh what can it mean
To be a sad Manc wanker
with a shit cricket team?


Don't go to England
Don't go to England
It's a place of M I S E R Y
Don't believe them, don't believe them
For it's all a pack of lies
If it wern't bastard Poms it would be a paradise!

warny iz a fat cunt, warny iz a fat cunt, la la la la hey

u shud ov put tht post in the england chants