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I dreamt that me seat woz cheap plastic
And me pert derriere didn’t fit
Both me feet were set off at these fantastic
Different angles, such comfort for two score or more quid
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Drunk punters threw up in the carzies
Hand soap and towels were a dream from the past
“Oi mate there’s no water I can’t wash me hands”
I called out to a steward, who looked at me, as if I was daft.
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Our club shop had run out of replica shirts
Extra large, being the unobtainable size
To cover up beerguts of those, who’d had too many sherbets
You’ve seen them, they ate all the gristle filled pies.
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It’s amazing I remember the verses above
As I rarely recall any dreams
Is this a nightmare, about to descend on me club
Or is it a reality, that could apply, to most of the premiership teams?