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A journeymen team
Raised a right head of steam
As proceedings did break at one all
If it wasn’t for Cech
Who was guarding our net
We could have turned round, with backs to the wall.
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Were there rockets like those on the Kursaal
Or a dressing room wall stained with tea?
Maybe Big Phil had thrown something verbal
At his under-performers, from the so called Big Three.
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When the fouth one sailed in, we were cruising,
I saw one or two of the boys start to smile
So maybe Phil and his linguistic bruising
Has sorted their heads out fine style?