From the early shouting wind,
To the late burning heat
Our hands at labour of fuming ink
Where each drop sinks en papers
We, matriculants, see as dreamers
Our courage comes from bold teachers
As we sometimes pine
To school preachers
but some are rope of sands
Who art opportunities
Today, pen shall meet paper
Our visage shall express emotion
As we enter the silent room
Where no one is to move
nor start conversation
Ink shall sink on paper
We matriculants are bespeak
of our teachers labour
As the paper cause timorous
And others think we're rude
We shout TEKKIES
Where gold like spark of flint-stone
We Tekkies sing it with high note
And where the weight of tow'ring wheels groan
We fly higher and present our own
where our school is one of the best
with good teachers from A to Z
It's THS Welkom, we serve you with zest!
[Israel Xaba]