Yma o hyd , Yma o hyd (We are still here, we are still here)
I hear the voices singing. Speed your
journey, bois bach, good heavens
One nation, singing with one voice, a song of hope, a song of courage.
A victory song that floats through the valleys, like a red mist, rolls over the mountain tops, like crimson thunder.
A red storm is coming to the gates of Qatar.
It crackles, with the spirit of ‘58 and Jimmy
Murphy’s boys. It turns the pages of the history books and finds Rob’s page, waiting, still to be written. Rob Page is the coach
What would you write in there, boys? Dare you write your names on that page? We haven’t waited 64 years and come half way around the world to be troubled by a neighbour from back
home.
When the
English coming knock on our door, let‘s give them some sugar, boys, let’s give them some
Welsh sugar. They’ve always said we are too small, we are too
slow, we are too weak, too full of fear. But yma o hyd (‘Still here’, the title of a famous
Welsh nationalistic folk song), you sons of Speed, and they fall around us.
We are still here.