His Natty Highness, cap of black

Bless our soldiers, bless our pack

Grant us form and faith and nerve

And help us claim what we deserve

It started back a month ago

From Corey’s bat the runs did flow

Enough to bowl a victory to

At Hagley Oval, as you do

Danny V had Scotland stewed

Once Tim and Trent had set the mood

142 proved hard to score

But Prince Kane got us through the door

Did ya hear about the Westpac Swinger?

Tim put England through the ringer

Captain Mac, he smashed us home

But Southee’s seven had it sewn

Then we faced our toughest test

The might of Aussie made our guest

We sliced and diced and carved them up

Survived a late Mitch Starc hiccup

Afghanistan played noble cricket

‘Til Danny claimed his 300th wicket

And while Bangladesh gave us a fright

Guptill tonned to win the fight

No accounting for what came next

Guptill’s heroics, the West Indies perplexed

Two hundred and thirty seven runs not out

A Blackcaps win never then in doubt

Through semi-final, we prevailed

ABDV and Co. curtailed

Thus to the MCG we’re travellin’

Thanks to the bat of The Hairy Javelin

And so with our fate so perilously stood

We ask only that we do what we should

For six times before we have fallen just short

Now we are poised at the peak of the sport

No second chances, no excuses or fails

The weight of a nation rests on those bails

Through Natty Mac’s mercy we’ve triumphed ‘til now

There’s just one more game, should his glory allow

Australia waits in the city of Melbourne

Loud and obnoxious, conceited and stubborn

The bullies of cricket, they think that they’ll beat us

But there’s no way we’re letting those bastards defeat us

The spirit of Hillary, Meads and of Hadlee

Inhabits us, grips us, inspires us madly

Rise up, all New Zealand, and chant all together

Because from that first crack of willow on leather

We’ll be with them, and for them

And we will adore them

To ultimate glory now do we implore them

Four and more million, breathing as one

Our fates all entwined, our nation become

Each flowing drive, each dot ball or boundary

We’ll be living them all for a chance at the bounty

Eleven men, chosen for talent and skill

A destiny there for them to fulfil

A silver fern resting on each cap and chest

Representing us all, representing the quest

It’s our time now, we feel it, the numbers add up

Now get out there lads, and

BRING BACK THAT CUP!