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Way, way back in the eighties,
when we commented on praties
and mullets were the fashion of the day,
the fixture we loved best,
one step up from all the rest
was travelling up to play Finn Harps away.
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We could not go through the north,
so our minibus set forth
mid-morning-ish upon the Saturday.
And we’d form a little cell
in our Donegal hotel
while travelling up to play Finn Harps away.
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All the pubs stayed upon late
which, for this young fool, was great.
Too fond of drink, too easy led astray!
Sunday morning I’d awake
and by God, my head would ache
and then we’d go watch Shels play Harps away.
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Of those games in Donegal,
I can remember bugger all.
Once I fell asleep, I’m sad to say.
And it often ended badly
(courtesy one Brendan Bradley)
when Shels went up to play Finn Harps away.
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On the long road home to Dublin,
all my insides would be bubblin’ –
no drink for me for many a long day.
Yes, I look back with affection,
though I have scant recollection
of the times we used to play Finn Harps away.