(Chant)
Hoy, hoy, hoy, we are bogies of the green!
Hoy, hoy, hoy, upon this day this is our mean…
To mischief-make and holla whilst leaf-clad from head to toe
And we’ll guard the Jack with all our might where ever he may go.
(Verses)
In the silence of the morning the eruption of the drum,
Fills the hill upon the East with its rugged, rhythmical hum.
Then, down come the bogies to a newly awakened town,
For they must go to the one who waits with a crown and emerald gown.
So the sticks once more do clatter and upon the ground do clash,
As this mischievous mixture mingles, and in and out of the crowds do dash,
A collage of colour fuses with elaborate style and care,
Amidst ragged robes and garlands round wild and tinted hair.
There’s madness and there’s mayhem, from behind two guarded doors,
Where at the museum of fishermen all await for May Day’s cause,
And not a soul is safe from the bogie, green or gay,
For these tricksters will pounce and paint you before you can get away!
Bald heads and noses, or anything you dare reveal,
Policemen and marshals, ladies squeezed and kissed will squeal,
But now the time has come, so no longer Jack must hide,
And through the crowds the bogies go and will never leave his side.
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