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I’ve screamed with joy when my tickets arrived.
I’ve gone to games on work days – I’ve happily skived.
I’ve run to the ground fearing I would be late.
I’ve chosen the footie ahead of a date.
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I’ve been to a match and stood the whole game.
I’ve watched my great team in the wind and the rain.
I’ve gone with my family, I’ve gone with my friends,
I’ve never once left till the game’s at an end.
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Can you say you haven’t? I’m guessing not.
You’ve cheered every goal, every cross, every shot.
And even if you haven’t you know someone who did,
And for just ninety minutes, we all spend a few quid.
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What do we get in return for that dosh?
Nice facilities, these new grounds are well ******’ posh.
A chance to cheer and sing for our team,
And a trophy? – well, we all have our dreams.
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What we don’t expect when we hand over our pounds?
To have to be buried, dead in the ground.
To not come back from a football match.
For our families to have to start their lives from scratch.
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The victims of Hillsborough have waited fifteen years,
For some form of justice, to dry some of the tears.
Liverpool had to recover, on them did it fall,
But the issues of that day should be felt by us all.
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It could have been you, or someone you love,
Life taken away, soul sent up above,
It could have been your father, your daughter, your son,
More than that – it could have been almost anyone.