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From north and south, from east and west, by boat and train and plane,
By car and foot, by barge and bike, we made our way to Spain,
We moved by day, we moved by night, by land and sea and air,
We hitched, we hiked, we thumbed, we stowed, somehow we all got there.
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Flight after flight descended in the blazing Spanish sun,
Not one or two or three or four, but thousands on each run,
A tidal wave of Bhoys and Ghirls, a flush of living green,
Coursed through the streets like streams in spate to flood the sun drenched scene.
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As every train sped on each track, it’s whistle blown on high,
It warned the world the Tim Malloys had drunk the buffets dry,
We came from every sovereign land and every nation state,
We came with Celtic in our hearts, we came to face our fate.
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From Hong Kong, Hobart, New York too, Karachi, and Lahore,
From Melbourne, Perth, Johannesburg, from north to southern shore,
We came from right we came from left we came from up and down,
From every street and every lane we filled the whole damn town,
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From ‘Catedral y Giralda’ to Rio Guadalquivir,
We drank the red, we drank the white, sambuca, stout, and beer,
From Santa Juste to Santa Cruz through to Real Alcazar,
Appeared just like the Gallowgate, each inn a Celtic bar.
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What of the game? Well such is life, the facts for all to see
Were that The Celts scored only two, and those cheating bastards ..Three!
But though we lost, each Bhoy in green – a hero every one,
Proved once again that when in Hoops, these colours never run!
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A flood of tears I saw that night, from wean to OAP,
But tears that sprung from bursting pride, I know ’cos one was me,
And singing voices once again resounded till the sun
Arose and seen the Celtic hosts and thought ‘What if they’d won!’
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We came, we saw, we conquered hearts, we left without the prize,
But left with something dearer still, with smiles and sparkling eyes,
And though we lost the final there, ‘twas not a bitter pill,
We’ll ne’er forget that shining jewel, we’ll ne’er forget Seville.