CXXX : The Bard as a Liverpool fan
¶ 1
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My beloved want nothing to do with The Sun ;
The quarrel is far more remembered, than the kit is red :
If results are all, then the season is dun ;
If wins bring points, then all hopes are dead.
I have seen scarves, bedecked in red and white,
But no more do I see the Kop ;
And in some quarters there is great delight
And those who just love to have a pop.
I love to hear the chants, yet well I know
Down south hath a far more pleasing sound :
I grant I never saw a team so slow –
Boots filled with lead, dragging on the ground :
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
For there’s still not a team, can compare!
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