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They’re throwing next seasons, new threads to the crowd
Drogba’s boots have been given away
I smile as miffed punters, fill West London streets from our ground
As United rain on our parade.
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Players kids take a leisurely stroll with their dads
As bleached fake tanned ma’s grace our stands
With talk of a move to another expensive posh gaff
Financed by outrageous, new contract demands from one’s man.
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A regular guy, who’s now our messiah
Is lauded by two faced supporters
Was it just weeks ago, they demanded, en masse he be fired?
Cast as a puppet, to whom our owner gave orders.
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What a day we were promised this week on TV
“It’s United’s to lose” they all said
Were the tellys at The Reebok not switched on this week?
As The Wanderers killed our end of term party ….stone dead!
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Bolton’s travelling fans were waving their hands
In this strange style like Viking Stavanger
What does this mean, and can it be seen
At the homes they play, up in Lancashire?