So they write to confess, and they write in distress, And each letter increases the gloom;For I didn't let on that on different nights There were two bottles pinched from my room.
Well, a mate's but a man who is fighting his fate, And a crook has his sorrow and grief;So the mate I'll forgive for the sake of a mate, And the thief for the sake of a thief.
And I'll let the Gallipoli Strollers go free To pile up the takings (or bolt);All players and strollers have had claims on me Since the generous days of Bland Holt.