He’s pudding on the pie,
a half-crown in the sky,
and if rainbows radiate
he’s a ringer at the plate.
Get games to decision time
the Monster wall he will climb,
and then he’ll oft repeat
out onto Lansdowne Street.
He bears a pro kid’s smile
wide as your country mile.
Even when a game is close,
excitement gets his hefty dose.
As he lifts a ball so heavenly,
fans get dizzy with their glee,
and making his turn at third
another thunder is also heard.
Joy supreme is fandom treats,
no one’s sitting in their seats,
happy hales are Mookie-made,
those high salvos for his trade.