My tribe

My tribe is strong,
My tribe is brave,
We the faithful throng sing songs,
Stoutly proudly and our flags we wave,
Raising spirits in the pursuit of victory,
Striving forward toward making history.

My tribe is blue,
My tribe is gold,
The blood its runs through on the field,
Is where tribal dreams unfold.

Our stoic, heroic warriors defend with lion-like pride,
Attacking with ferocious intent and unwavering will with every stride,
My tribe is steadfast,
My tribe is resolute.

Eighty minutes one to fifteen,
Built to last,
Built to win from head to boot,
We thirst for Magners,
We hunger for Heineken.
B.O.D shall we ever see the like again.

My tribe has passion,
An illustrious history and a Murrayfield fairytale story,
We play the game in a stylish and skilful fashion,
Building for the future in the search of more triumphant glory.

The line out soars,
To tower high Cullen and Hynes clutching the ball,
The pack attack with rabid and rapid power,
In the bullish heat of battle they shall never cower,
Determination written firm on the gladiators faces,
Sean O’Brien leaving tacklers in his wake with piston pumping paces.

The back quartet armed with snipers accuracy,
Johnny Sexton conducting the show at his supreme decree majestically.
Whether in the tight of a scrum or at the back of a ruck,
We’ve got the ammunition to leave the enemy thunderstruck.

Attacking from every angle and all directions,
Cutting up defences,
With incisive dissections.
 
So let the refrain reign and bellow into the Dublin Sky.
As Leinster! Leinster! Leinster!
Announces yet another winning try.

The boys are back in town,
And the timeless Molly Malone is there to greet them,
On the hallowed Leinster ground,
Upon where victories are born beneath them.

By: bernie g

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