Saturday On The Somme
¶ 1
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Mist in the air, a dampness through your bones
As that whistle blows.
¶ 2
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It must be full time lads – cos the end is nigh on
Top that bloody bank.
¶ 3
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A long way from home, the wet crowded streets
At five on a Saturday night.
¶ 4
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But we’re here together, joined up as one in the
Patriotic fervour and fire.
¶ 5
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The footballers’ battalion we’re called – from City
From Rovers, from Blighty we came.
¶ 6
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And Imaybe the Clubs will miss us when it’s all
Done. Like hell, they will.
¶ 7
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So we dig in, resolute. Defend the line lads, just
As we did in that Cup tie.
¶ 8
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Fix bayonets Sarge screams. Over the top boys,
The goal’s right over there.
¶ 9
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Charge, someone kicks a ball forward. Flesh,
Wire, anger, we’ve lost I fear.
¶ 10
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So send a postcard, all jaunty and fun. Home
For next season we’re told.
¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 It never came.
27
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