In an outback town called rugby league,
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Where North was always down,
There came a young fresh Cowboy,
A new-comer to the town.
For some, ‘twas inspiration,
Though long he suffered jeers,
His age was young but still he held,
Experience beyond his years.
He’d wrestled sharks and bulldogs too,
On journeys he would go.
But never had he snared it yet,
That tuned and slick Bronco.
Bronco was a southern beast,
Full of pomp and star,
All attempts Cowboy’d made,
Were bucked and spat so far.
Their battles came up often,
Still Cowboy got the flick.
Soon it seemed uncatchable,
No rope on it would stick.
Then one day a new hope sprang,
Into the Cowboy’s eyes.
Against the trend of all years past,
He’d give it one more try.
He rode a horse called Thurston,
With his Granville hat he’d tip,
And a rope made of Taumalolo,
That rarely lost its grip.
A whip that he named Morgan,
And spurs that spun red hot,
Ruthless though he'd named them both,
One Tamou, the other Scott.
In a far-off southern paddock,
The proud old Bronco came.
But even it could tell that things,
This time were not the same.
Cowboy met the beast head-on.
And took it by surprise.
As local fauna intense and keen,
Looked on with hungry eyes.
The Bronco tried to use old tricks,
The head toss and the buck.
If only its legs ran out as fast.
As did seem its luck.
The Bronco copped some heavy blows.
As Cowboy’s skills just soared.
Close it came, the Cowboy held.
No points against him scored.
Exhausted and defeated,
The Bronco filled with tears.
Lay bridled by the Cowboy.
For the first time in many years.
A Cowboy’s memories are very thin.
But nothing does so please.
When he recalls that time that he,
Brought the Bronco to its knees.
