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With some trepidation midst a fall of March rain
I saunter The Kings Road to lunch
With scant thought on the thriller later on v The Villa
I order light luncheon then munch.
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Would there be a goal spree when the small hand touched three
And the twenty-two faced off in style
Or a boring staid draw, where one stifles a yawn
As your hit men miss the target by miles?
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Was it only last year when The Villa played here
And eight goals were shared in a classic?
“It couldn’t happen again? Surely not” I exclaimed
When Carew pounced with our defence static.
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Then the interval came midst a downpour of rain
As proceedings were brought to a halt
But it’s what happened next when the home team expressed
With great gusto these quite frightening sortes.
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I saw fear in the eyes beneath West London skies
Of a Villa team simply ran ragged
Was it poor Richard Dunne face down in the mud
Who howled when he heard the time added?
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At seven goals to one the pressure’s right on
To impress when we go up to Old Trafford
But last Saturday post noon – Villa’s aspirations seemed doomed
As we turned on the style when it mattered!