The ramblers from good old St Marks
Used to wander 'cross meadow and park
Then we joined the Backpackers
And it's driving us crackers
'cos we never get home till it's dark

In snowstorms in rain and the frost
We have all discovered to our cost
When Bob reads his compass
He causes a rumpus
'cos it usually means we are lost

A leader who's lost is a bumbler
When someone fall down they're a tumbler
But moaners who stop
Before reaching the top
Are usually known as the grumbler

When the footpaths become overgrown
And backpackers begin to moan
Not with sickle and shears,
It's with those secateurs
John Morrell comes into his own

In fields of the wheat and the barley
Two fit dogs are Oakley and Charlie
When they go for a hike
They don't need a bike
'cos they race around just like a Harley

Anne Rawlinson seemed very pleased
With her long forest walk in the trees
But she gave us a fright
With the pub in her sight
When she took the skin off her knees

Backpackers take arduous trips
'cos it takes all the weight off their hips
But whenever they dine
They drink all the wine
And put it back on with the chips