When I left home for my parents' sake,
On the M40 road up to Oxford,
They swore the world was mine to take,
With my pen and my gown into Oxford.
When I graduated from Oxford.
But I fought from Wales down to Cornwall,
By the Yorkshire moors, where the snowflakes fall,
As hard as the work for my first,
As dull as the work for my first.
And I lost Physics and I lost stats,
And I lost French and 'cos of that
I lost my First.
When you go by The Broad to your College,
As thousands have travelled before,
Remember the luck of the warrior,
Who we never fought any more.
Crucial the essays they set him,
Vital the lectures that bore,
His shield was picked up by the Fresher
And we never saw him any more.
But I fought…
When you go by The Broad and the High Street
That run from the College to Schools,
Remember the luck of the warrior,
Who rose to be master of all.
He fought with the spear and the broadsword,
And slaughtered the Norman and Dane,
And the warriors elected him President
And he rose to become our Thegn.
But I fought…
Oh it's 45 miles back to Swindon,
And 25 more on to home,
And the end may be life in our lectures,
Or to rule from the President's throne.
But whether the warriors support us,
Or we go to the Proctors alone,
I'd rather be a Wychwood warrior
Than to work in my room all alone!
But I fought…
by Robert White
