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ramblings and things
It was Arrers not darts
In our East Riding twang,
Just dialect really,
Our regional slang.
Not exactly the Dream Team
When we played as a pair
But some nights me and him
Would beat everybody there.
No trebles on a Yorkshire board
Just outer, Bull and Double Top,
But for game after game
Our luck just wouldn't stop
You played all comers until you lost:
As the losers bought it reduced the cost,
Sipping ale didn't do any harm,
Made me relax, loosened the arm.
It seemed to improve every dart throw
At times we won many games in a row
Then the drink wold hit
One of us would lose control
And that would end
Our winning roll.
It didn't so happen at our every meet
But when it did we were the team to beat.
Then I fell in love and didn't want to play
So he and I and went our separate way
But some times he d shout hey Slim
For old times sake let's take 'em on
But it was seldom the same
For The magic was gone
But once in a while we couldn't stop
Hitting bulls and Double Top.
And just for a while we'd start to win.
At every victory Bernard would grin.
Then marriage came. I moved into town
It wasn't very often then that I got down
For the village pub had lost its charm
And I lost the skill in my throwing arm
Our partnership came to its final end
But we still remained good drinking friends.
The we lost touch until one one day
I learned old Bernard had passed away
I drank to memory of the times we'd meet
When we had been the team to beat.