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Bang the drum, hang out the flags and dye your hair bright blue.
Turn a cartwheel in the street, pull on your dancing shoes.
Greet the nearest Koppite with a chirpy nod.
Kneel down on your prayer-mat, and give hearty thanks to God.
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We’ve had it tough these last nine months, (though things could have been worse.)
From Opening Day to Hogmanay with bad luck we were cursed.
We got knocked out of Europe, our League form was abysmal.
We lost the Yuletide Derby, it’s no wonder we were dismal.
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The Relegation-Spectre loomed, the ‘Pool fans took the Michael.
And many felt that Gaffer Moyes should get on his bi-cycle.
The vultures circled overhead, the jackals licked their lips.
With wat’ring mouths they dreamed of how our bones they clean would pick.
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But they’ll not on our carcass gorge, nor dance upon our grave.
The Drop Zone’s far enough below, you can’t catch us, we’re safe!
We didn’t take the Title, we sure won’t lift the Cup,
Yet still we sing and jump for joy, because we’re staying up.