It’s only once a year And all the proceeds go towards the club. There won’t be any prizes So please supply your own And bring them when we gather at the pub.
At first we have the AGM
To sort out business matters. Who’s doing what? Who’s won the cup? Then time to eat and natter.
But now the tension rises,
Last chance to sell more tickets, The cry goes up, “It’s 50 pence a strip.” We’ve 67 prizes, enough for every-one, In fact you could get several in your grip.
Too soon, the meeting’s over, We gather up our spoils, There’s books and chocolate, Spares and bits and bobs. The Club is ticking over, we’ll make another year So keep those pedals turning, that’s the job.