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Tales of passing glories, victories of renown,
I remember Bolton Wanderers when they played in Bolton town,
Tales of long lost heroes, players for the town,
Who knew the way to lift the heads
Of the fans who had come down.
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I loved the walk to Burnden, along the Manny Road,
To watch the whites fight gloriously they would never let us down,
We knew the team would give it all and fight to the bitter end
We never thought that we would lose, although we did of course,
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When Big Sam came back to Bolton then the dreaming starts,
He brought old famous players, who we took to our hearts.
Names that we found hard to say, to spell we had no chance
But God, the visiting teams were led a merry dance.
And one way and another with every passing day.
They got us into Europe where the best teams we could play.
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Then Sam and Phil had a falling out, and Sam he went his way
And the whites were going backwards from that very day.
Now they play at the Macron and how the lights grow dim,
They haven’t for the meter a shilling to put in.
The wonder of it all though is you’ll never have to queue,
There’ll always be a seat there for everyone of you.
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I haven’t got the heart now to go and watch my team,
The passion and the glory just aren’t what they once seemed,
I say to all the Wanderers fans who I would never knock
I hope the last one standing, as he leaves will catch the lock.