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Over tea and the smell of fresh toast
To me kids in bravado I boast
“I’ve got this weird winning feeling
There’s three points we’ll be stealing
At The Emirates, from The Arsenal, our hosts.
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We were slow from the start to a fault
Though unfazed the score stayed at nought nought
As a cats and dogs lashing
Pullen all thoughts of the thrashing
I predicted that morning indoors.
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Silver like rain drops did fall
As silken net was caressed at three nought
Red plastic seats began crashing
As them Gooners went dashing
For the exits bearing witness to a mauling.
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Ancellotti stood soaked to the skin
Urging, coaxing, demanding we win
Whilst just down the touch-line
A man whose team failed to shine
Cursed officialdom errs yet again.
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“Only one Arsene Wenger” rang out
When his young side were two nothing down
But when that third one flew in
Rain soaked Blues were stood cheering
In a half empty North London shroud.