User:Tomseddon/Billy Moss table

We went to Rhoscolyn in '73,
And Found an old Scout Belt for the Challenge Trophy,
Donated by Ollier, he soon won it back,
For tripping over guy ropes he had a great knack

Next year at Criccieth there were lots of young girls,
With Lawton dressed up in lipstick and curls,
When it came to voting we alll had no doubt,
It had to be dave with his bionic mouth

Next on our list we had Brucey the Streak,
That year at Nefyn he had a great week,
He jumped in a bog and got his feet wet,
And grass was the only thing he ever ate,

At Aberdaron was Steve's brother Paul,
All through the week he did nothing at all,
The lads pegged him out with mallet and rope,
So we gave the bog seat and a bar of soap

Young Gary Marsdon was not very tall,
But he streaked round the camp wearing nothing at all,
After doing his streak he was pegged to the ground,
And thats how the winner in Penmaen was found

Next year at Haytor was a close two horse race,
But Gary came through it with jam on his face,
That was his second year with the trophy,
Though he came back the next he never made three

Next year at Harlech it was young Chris Mulchahy,
Who spent all his time wathing clouds in the sky,
According to 'weasel' these clouds they were green,
But we all knew the truth; it was fireworks he'd seen

On to Pwllheli and a newcomer appeared,
Finito Benito was worse than we feared,
His great innovation was making blue steam,
A classic addition to the moss challenge team

Next on our lost we have young Andy Darke,
At Drffyn Ardudwy he was a bright spark,
The Butcher had failed to deliver the meat,
So down on the beach he sat eating his feet

We returned to Pwllheli in '82,
A parrot called Ashton came along too,
When crossing the golf course his feet they got splashed on,
The winner of course was David Ashton

Returning to Drffyn in '83,
Ian the idiot walked into a tree,
The flagpole, the guy ropes, they all had him beat,
The winner was Coffey with his two left feet

We went back to Penmaen in '84,
The Elliot's were lunatics as they had been before,
In the end it turned out quite a family affair,
But Ian, with out a doubt, was the worst of the pair

Next year at Harlech we got a bit wet,
But young Garry Lawrence had no need to fret,
He saw lines on the road which he swore were contours,
And for a couple of polos he'd take down his draws

We went to Pwllheli in '86,
Where Whitehead let young girls play with his sticks,
Romeo Russel soon learned to his cost,
That in love, ad in hiking, he'd always be lost

Youth hostelling at Whitby it was Garry again,
Now chasing women instead of young men,
But when Lawrence the lover finally caught her,
He got kicked in the Boggle Hole and it made his eyes water

The next year we went to the Isle if Man,
Where Jonathen Doyle found porn on the tram,
Parading the centrefold right down the aisle,
He won the moss challenge in considerable style

The next year at Thirsk was a wide open race,
But Peter Aston locked his eyes in the case,
At light water valley he rode on the rat,
And he had to change his underpants when he got back

A comeback at Downton was well on the cards,
As Johnny turned up with an ampless guitar,
An underarm spray was the way he got clean,
Yes Jonatan Doyle was back on the scene

On the Isle of Man, it was the Captains son,
Scrouge of the campsite and death of his mum,
He battered a seagull all over the sand,
Yes, young stuart Brady got well out of hand

In Dublin's fair city in '92,
Stuarts brother Mark was the worst of the crew,
A typical Brady, he swam in the weir,
And peed in the places where other men fear

At Murton the next year from Lemmington Spa,
Came young David King, a bit of a star,
With his fake Brummie accent and a motermouth gob,
He could pu demolition firms out of a job

The next year at Benllech it was young Robert Holmes,
An anorak trekkie who constantly moaned,
He disliked the custard we spread on his knee,
And his progress up Snowdon was pathetic to see

Young Adam Worthington had a big mouth,
From which only gibberish ever came out,
When frightened at Thirsk by the Hartlepool mob,
The lads secret weapon was Adam the gob

Next year at Tyn Ross a necomer emerged,
Found deep in a sand dune completely submerged,
Goofy and smiling in camouflage gear,
Out of the darkness Peter Fuller appears

Next year in Penmean it was young Chris McDonagh,
If he umpired while you batted, then you were a gonner,
He vomitted over the hills and the dales,
And his shouting and whistling could be heards throughout Wales

The next year at Benllech was the captains lad Dave,
Who watched as his raft floated over the waves,
He broke all his bones as he upset his mum,
But he loved all those wipe free poos from his bum