It’s not just the months and years of training
Pushing kilos in the gyms,
It’s the swelling choirs of Welshmen
Pulling heartstrings with their hymns.
It’s not just the muddy piles of laundry
And the washing off the dirt,
It’s the knowing that it’s Welsh soil
And the wearing of the shirt.
It’s not just the side-steps, scrums and tackles
And the crossing of the lines,
Welsh identity is calling
From the hills and former mines.
And it’s not just the salty sweat or tears
Or the glory or the fame,
The nation’s very soul’s at stake
And the playing of The Game.
To stand tall with dancers, bards and artists,
Pluck the Celtic harpist’s score,
Sing loud Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau,
Make the silenced dragon roar.
For love of country, we’ll take the bruises
From the hits as hard as nails.
We may have lost, but, still, we win
For we’re born to root for Wales.