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We drove round for ages, looking to park
A guided tour of her hometown she did
As mums and dads in a rush, being led by their kids
Made their way to The Match fore the start.
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She was holding me hand as the lights came in view
The noise from the crowd filled the air
It felt kinda nice, her being with me there
The sort of gesture one’s lover might do.
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“Will you stand me a Bovril?” She said weeks before
When she let on she’d paid for two tickets
“I will do,” says I ” Be a pleasure, my twist”
I mean a geezer’s got to treat his l’amour.
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She held my hand tightly, and beamed like a light
Which might lazily shine on The Thames
When the ref’s whistle blew, I came down earthwards again
To my plastic seat hired for the fight.
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As we basked in the action, I explained what I could
She kissed me quick, laughing and smiled
We held hands, watched proceedings, and after a while
Stayed sat down whilst the other fans stood.
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The wise words of her sister on what’s written above
Rang true in me lug holes for weeks
She said, on hearing of our destiny that Saturday at three:
“You’re going to The Match? Then it must be real love!”
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It weren’t much of a game to be honest
But then me eyes rarely strayed t’ward the pitch
Her being sat beside me made me feel so exquisite
I clean forgot about the Bovril I’d promised!