South of the Yarra
Brownlow Medallist
- Jul 23, 2006
- 12,738
- 23,059
- AFL Club
- Collingwood
Round 3 is upon us, and we're caught in the fire,
Chasing dreams, as the stakes get higher.
Ross the Boss, with a cold, silent grin,
Lyoned us all—trapped in his spin.
We danced on the edge, thought we knew the game,
But his selections hit us, leaving us shame.
A whisper of brilliance, but a dagger to trust,
His mind played chess, while ours turned to dust.
Bailey Smith once our beacon of light,
Burned us all in the dead of the night.
A promise of glory, a cheap, hopeful prize,
How many weeks? Here come the lies.
We thought we had it, that we'd outsmart the rest,
But reality’s harsh when you're put to the test.
The trades, the picks, they slip through our hands,
Like grains of sand, lost in shifting lands.
Oh SuperCoach, you wound with a smile,
You teach us lessons, though it takes a while.
With every miss, with every failed play,
We bleed, but we rise, day after day.
We’re not just players, we’re warriors in this fight,
Fighting for points, for trades that are right
We’ll rebuild, recalibrate, learn from the fall,
For in every defeat, we grow, we trade, we stand tall.
So here's to the grind, to the bruises we bear,
For the true champions of Supercoach rise from despair.
This round, we return with fire in our eyes
Round 3 is ours; we will win that prize
Chasing dreams, as the stakes get higher.
Ross the Boss, with a cold, silent grin,
Lyoned us all—trapped in his spin.
We danced on the edge, thought we knew the game,
But his selections hit us, leaving us shame.
A whisper of brilliance, but a dagger to trust,
His mind played chess, while ours turned to dust.
Bailey Smith once our beacon of light,
Burned us all in the dead of the night.
A promise of glory, a cheap, hopeful prize,
How many weeks? Here come the lies.
We thought we had it, that we'd outsmart the rest,
But reality’s harsh when you're put to the test.
The trades, the picks, they slip through our hands,
Like grains of sand, lost in shifting lands.
Oh SuperCoach, you wound with a smile,
You teach us lessons, though it takes a while.
With every miss, with every failed play,
We bleed, but we rise, day after day.
We’re not just players, we’re warriors in this fight,
Fighting for points, for trades that are right
We’ll rebuild, recalibrate, learn from the fall,
For in every defeat, we grow, we trade, we stand tall.
So here's to the grind, to the bruises we bear,
For the true champions of Supercoach rise from despair.
This round, we return with fire in our eyes
Round 3 is ours; we will win that prize
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