The Magnificent Magyars
¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The great Stanley Mathews summed it up like a beautiful day’s weather
¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 “They are the best team I ever played against. They were the best ever.”
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Known as Aranycsapatin in Hungary, they played football with the lyre
The golden team to you and me, musicians amidst the pyre
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Led by Ferenc Puskas, marauding Real Madrid hero, the galloping Major
Record goalscorer of all time, never will he be a stranger
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Hidegkuti probing, making space in the hole
The first exponent of the deep lying centre forward role
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Zoltan Czibor with the accuracy of a wild west gunslinger
Wing wizardry, the legacy of an all time great left winger
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Then there was Boszik, graceful midfielder, a golden beacon and beam
A cultured playmaker, full of steam, the brains behind the team
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Grosics took on the mantle of a revolutionary new role
The archetypal second sweeper, the heartbeat and the soul
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Lorant the sweeper with flowing attacks brimming with power
An example so perfected by Kaiser Beckenbauer
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We move onto the marauding right back, the steely Buzanszky
Express train, bulletlike, oh the young and free!
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Lantos working simultaneously, a busy bee on the left
Sizzling pace, startling grace, leaving opposing teams bereft
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Zakarias the defensive midfielder calmy policing his rounds
In today’s market he’d be worth at least eighteen million pounds
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Budai on the right, always alright on the night
Tracking up and down, in and out, by golly he gave teams a fright
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Kocsis nicknamed goldenhead for his aerial power
Indomitable Golden Boot winner, an irresolute tower
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Fifty four world cup heralds the Olympic champions, all ready to slay
A long unbeaten run, they’ll blow all in their path away
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A nine nil victory over South Korea, a West German massacre eight goals to three
The mighty Hungarians are in town, the travelling support are full of glee
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The Magicians arrive on the back of a four-year unbeaten run
The outcome of the finals is still seen as a miracle by the Hun
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Brazil and Uruguay like dirty rags on the scrapheap, tossed to a side
The march goes on and it seems that nothing will spoil the ride
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But don’t understate German party poopers, proficient with the proverbial ‘boo’
Helmut Rahn knocks in a brace as Fritz Walters men triumph three two.
¶ 20 Leave a comment on verse 20 0 © Emdad Rahman
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