A League Of Their Own
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The gunner stands by his Arsenal,
A winter chill is in the air.
Liverpool’s reds stay in their beds,
Chewing Toffees with ne’er a care.
A Blue Moon is over Old Trafford,
The red dawn still so far away.
Down the Lane Cockerels are silent,
For the new year they want to stay.
Palace now have an old stoker,
Said Pulis up now if you can.
West Ham’s claret is gone flat,
Sam’s ideas not going to plan.
Down in Wales the Swans are swimming,
They look serene as they float by.
Alas the Bluebirds are flightless,
Now that Tan tries to rid of Mackay.
West Brom still look for a rudder,
Whilst Sunderland bring up the rear.
Magpies and Canaries still sing,
And Saints are showing no fear.
At the Bridge the blues are handy,
Bruce’s Tigers and Stoke are mid-stream.
But Fulham and Villa’s wish list,
To win the league is just a dream.
Your club may have bought a turkey,
A centre forward who can’t score.
But here is the rub, it’s your club,
And like Twist you’ll go back for more.
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